\ 


N 


\ 


o 


a 


/ 


*>  SANTA 


ci   •  (1  11.1 

»  S   NTA  SAKI 


o  *o  Aiiw»9ti  aw  - 


\ 


o   tME  tlWOftV  Of   o 


/ 


X 


/ 


•iN«ojriv3  JO  * 


\ 


O  OF  CAUreSNtA    • 

^  I 

5; 


Q  ASVHsn  3Hi  o 


«    OP  CAUFOitNIA    « 


/ 


\\i 


jkft 


iilf#=H-%-i       1. 


:iarvey  tay 

-^^-l,  YORK  -:- 


K.  L,  S.  in  California 

Sir  :— Miss  Charlotte  Trueman,  2933 
Piedmont  Ave.,  Berkeley,  has  some  in- 
teresting information  about  the  years 
of  Robert  Louis  Stevenson  in  Cali- 
fornia, secured  a  number  of  years  ago 
when  his  friend  Mrs.  Williams  was  liv- 
ing. Miss  Trueman  knew  Mrs.  Wil- 
liams. She  also  lived  next  door  to 
Stevenson's  boarding  place,  608  Bush 
Street,  San  Francisco,  and  obtained 
first-hand  information  about  the  land- 
lady, Mrs.  Carson. 

A.  B.   Maloney. 

2315  Durant  Ave., 

Berkeley,  Cal. 


^ 


From  the  Holly 

HARVEY  TA 

'  '  AUTHORS'  REPREG:. 


THE   LIFE   OF 
MRS.  ROBERT  LOUIS  STEVENSON 


irie  HollyiDood  ojyv 

HARVEY  TAYL 

AUTHORS'  REPR£SENTATI 
^EW  YORK  -:-  i:01 

1822  North  Gram-ifey  PLi^: 


I'";iiiii>    \aii  '\r  (iiil't  Stc\iii.>()ii  (luring  tlif  Eiigli>li  pciiinl 


THE  LIFE  OF 
MRS.  ROBERT  LOUIS  STEVENSON 


BY 
NELLIE  VAN  DE  GRIFT  SANCHEZ 


ILLUSTRATBD 


Fror,i  ihe  Hollywood  ..:..  > 

HARVEY  TAY^ 

y  /'authors'  REPE£5-^ 

~^-n  YORK 


NEW  YORK 
CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 

/   /p  1922 


COPYMGHT,  1920,  BY 

CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 


Printed  in  the  United  States  of  America 


Published  February,  1920 


^^H'-l  SA1«JTA  BARBARA  COLLEGE  LlBRi 

SI-2S 


TO 

ISOBEL   FIELD 

IN   TOKEN  OF  OUR   COMMON   LOVE  FOR 

HEB  WHOSE   LIFE   STORY   IS   TOLD   IN  ITS   PAQKS 

THIS  BOOK 

IB  AFFECTIONATELT   DEDICATED 


Fro7n  the  HoUyr^cr,^ 

HARVEY  TA 

>  •'  AUTHORS'  REPRESi: 

":T  YORK 


PREFACE 

When  I  first  set  out  to  tell  the  life  story  of  Mrs. 
Robert  Louis  Stevenson,  I  received  the  following  let- 
ter from  her  old  friend  Mr.  Bruce  Porter: 

"Once  when  I  urged  your  sister  to  set  down  the 
incidents  of  her  life  she  listened,  pondered,  and  then 
dismissed  the  suggestion  as  impossible,  as  her  life 
had  been  like  a  dazed  rush  on  a  railroad  express,  and 
she  despaired  of  recovering  the  incidental  memories. 
The  years  with  Stevenson  have  of  course  been  ade- 
quately told,  but  the  earlier  period — Indianapolis  and 
California — had  a  romance  as  stirring,  even  if  sharp- 
ened by  the  American  glare.  This  sharpness  has  al- 
ready, for  all  of  us,  begun  to  fade,  to  take  on  the 
glamour  of  time  and  distance,  and  I  cannot  think  of 
a  better  literary  service  than  to  make  the  fullest  pos- 
sible record  now,  before  it  utterly  fades  away." 

It  was  not  only  the  difficulty  of  recalling  events 
that  caused  her  to  resist  all  urgings  to  undertake  this 
task,  but  a  certain  shy  reluctance  in  speaking  of  her- 
self that  was  characteristic  of  her.  It  has,  therefore, 
fallen  to  me  to  collect  the  widely  scattered  material 
from  various  parts  of  the  world  and  weave  it  into  a 
coherent  whole  as  best  I  may,  but  my  regret  will 
never  cease  that  she  did  not  herself  tell  her  own  story. 

It  would  take  a  more  competent  pen  than  mine 
to  do  her  justice;  but  whoever  reads  this  book  from 


viii  PREFACE 

cover  to  cover  will  surely  agree  that  no  woman  ever 
had  a  life  of  more  varied  experiences  nor  went  through 
them  all  with  a  stauncher  courage. 

It  is  right  that  I  should  acknowledge  here  my  pro- 
found obligation  to  the  kind  friends  who  have  gen- 
erously placed  their  personal  recollections  at  my 
disposal.  These  are  more  definitely  referred  to  in 
the  body  of  the  book.  Aside  from  these  personal 
contributions,  the  main  sources  of  material  have  been 
as  follows: 

Ancestral  genealogies,  including  The  Descendants  of 
Joran  Kyn,  by  Doctor  Gregory  B.  Keen,  secretary  of 
the  Pennsylvania  Historical  Society. 

Data  concerning  the  genealogy  of  the  Keen  and 
Van  de  Grift  families  collected  by  Frederic  Thomas, 
of  New  York,  nephew  of  Mrs.  Stevenson. 

Notes  covering  the  life  of  Mrs.  Stevenson  up  to  the 
age  of  sixteen  years,  as  dictated  by  herself. 

A  collection  of  her  own  letters  to.  friends  and  rela- 
tives. 

Letters  to  Mrs.  Stevenson  from  friends. 

Extracts  from  various  books  and  magazines,  in- 
cluding The  Letters  of  Mrs.  M.  I.  Stevenson  (Methuen 
and  Company,  London);  The  Life  of  Robert  Louis 
Stevenson,  by  Graham  Balfour;  The  Letters  of  Robert 
Louis  Stevenson,  edited  by  Sidney  Colvin;  Vailima 
Memories,  by  Lloyd  Osbourne  and  Isobel  Osbourne 
Strong,  now  Mrs.  Salisbury  Field;  The  Cruise  of  the 
Janet  Nichol,  by  Mrs.  Robert  Louis  Stevenson; 
McClure's,  Scribner^s,  and  the  Century  magazines. 
Acknowledgment  is  due  the  publishers  of  the  above 
books  and  periodicals  for  their  courteous  permissions. 


PREFACE  IX 

A  diary  kept  by  Mrs.  Stevenson  of  her  life  in 
Samoa,  for  which  I  am  indebted  to  the  considerate 
kindness  of  Miss  Gladys  Peacock,  an  English  lady, 
into  whose  hands  the  diary  fell  by  accident. 

My  own  personal  recollections. 

Above  all,  I  wish  to  express  my  heartfelt  gratitude 
to  Mrs.  Stevenson's  daughter,  Isobel  Field,  without 
whose  unflagging  zeal  in  forwarding  the  work  it  could 
scarcely  have  been  carried  to  a  successful  conclusion, 
and  to  my  son,  Louis  A.  Sanchez,  for  valuable  assis- 
tance in  the  actual  writing  of  the  book. 

N.  V.  S. 

Berkjeclst,  Caufornia,  January,  1919. 


From  tfie  Hollyzj:.  .^    •, 

HARVEY  TAY 

>  /  AUTHORS'  REPREs::.; 

'^m_  YORK  -:- 

-  r 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTEB  PAQG 

I.  Ancestors 1 

II.  Early  Days  in  Indiana 9 

III.  On  the  Pacific  Slope 26 

IV.  France,  and  the  Meeting  at  Grez 42 

V.  In  California  with  Robert  Louis  Stevenson  .  55 

VI.  Europe  and  the  British  Isles 82 

VII.  Away  to  Sunnier  Lands 124 

VIII.  The  Happy  Years  in  Samoa 167 

IX.  The  Lonely  Days  of  Widowhood 226 

X.  Back  to  California 260 

XI.  Travels  in  Mexico  and  Europe 279 

Xn.  The  Last  Days  at  Santa  Barbara 297 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

Fanny  Van  de  Grift  Stevenson  during  the  English  period 

Frontispiece 

FACraa  PAGB 

John  Keen,  about  83  years  of  age,  maternal  great-grand- 
father of  Fanny  Van  de  Grift  Stevenson 2 

Jacob  Van  de  Grift,  about  56  years  of  age,  father  of  Fanny 

Van  de  Grift  Stevenson 6 

The  Van  de  Grift  residence  at  the  corner  of  Illinois  and 

Michigan  Streets,  Iiidiiinapolis 22 

The  bridge  at  Grez 46 

Fanny  Osboiirne  at  about  the  time  of  her  first  meeting  with 

Robert  Louis  Stevenson 48 

Robert  Louis  Stevenson  in  the  French  days 50 

Fanny  Osbourne  at  the  time  of  her  marriage  to  Robert 

Louis  Stevenson 78 

The  house  at  Vailima  with  the  additions  made  to  the  first 

structure 194 

Mrs.  Robert  Louis  Stevenson 262 

The  house  at  Hyde  and  Lombard  Streets,  San  Francisco, 
with  some  alterations  in  the  way  of  bay  windows,  etc., 
which  have  been  made  since  Mrs.  Stevenson  sold  it  .    ,     266 

The  house  at  Vanumanutagi  ranch 274 

Stonehedge  at  Santa  Barbara 298 

The  last  portrait  of  Mrs.  Stevenson 306 

The  funeral  procession  as  it  woimd  up  the  hill    ......  SS2 

The  tomb,  showing  the  bronze  tablet  with  the  verse  from 

Stevenson's  poem  to  his  wife 336 


THE  LIFE  OF 
MRS.  ROBERT  LOUIS  STEVENSON 

CHAPTER  I 

ANCESTORS 

To  arrive  at  a  full  understanding  of  the  complex 
and  unusual  character  of  Fanny  Van  de  Grift  Steven- 
son, which  perhaps  played  as  large  a  part  as  her 
beauty  and  intellectual  charm  in  drawing  to  her  the 
aflFections  of  one  of  the  greatest  romance  writers  of 
our  day,  one  must  go  back  and  seek  out  all  the  un- 
common influences  that  combined  to  produce  it — a 
long  line  of  sturdy  ancestors,  rumung  back  to  the 
first  adventurers  who  left  their  sheltered  European 
homes  and  sailed  across  the  sea  to  try  their  fortunes 
in  a  wild,  unknown  land;  her  childhood  days  spent 
among  the  hardy  surroundings  of  pioneer  Indiana, 
with  its  hints  of  a  past  tropical  age  and  its  faint 
breath  of  Indian  reminiscence;  the  early  breaking  of 
her  own  family  ties  and  her  fearless  adventuring  by 
way  of  the  Isthmus  of  Panama  to  the  distant  land  of 
gold,  and  her  brave  struggle  against  adverse  circum- 
stances in  the  mining  camps  of  Nevada.  All  these 
prenatal  influences  and  personal  experiences,  so  for- 
eign to  the  protected  lives  of  the  women  of  Steven- 
son's own  race,  threw  about  her  an  atmosphere  of 

1 


2         LIFE  OF  MRS.  R.   L.  STEVENSON 

thrilling  New  World  romance  that  appealed  with  ir- 
resistible force  to  the  man  who  was  himself  Romance 
personified. 

Fanny  Stevenson  was  a  lineal  descendant  of  two  of 
the  oldest  families  in  the  United  States,  her  first 
ancestors  landing  in  this  country  in  the  early  part  of 
the  seventeenth  century.  In  1642  Joran  Kyn,  called 
"The  Snow  "White,"  reached  America  in  the  ship 
Fama  as  a  member  of  the  life-guard  of  John  Printz, 
governor  of  the  Swedish  colony  established  in  the 
New  World  by  King  Gustavus  Adolphus.  He  took 
up  a  large  tract  of  land  and  was  living  in  peace  and 
comfort  on  the  Delaware  River  when  William  Penn 
landed  in  America.  He  was  the  progenitor  of  eleven 
generations  of  descendants  born  on  American  soil. 
His  memory  is  embalmed  in  an  old  document  still 
extant  as  "a  man  who  never  irritated  even  a  child.'* 

In  the  list  of  his  descendants  one  Matthias  stands 
out  as  "a  tall  handsome  man,  with  a  very  melodious 
voice  which  could  be  intelligibly  heard  at  times  across 
the  Delaware." 

A  later  descendant,  John  Keen,  born  in  1747,  fought 
and  shed  his  blood  in  the  war  of  American  Indepen- 
dence, having  been  wounded  in  the  battle  of  Prince- 
ton while  in  the  act  of  delivering  a  message  to  General 
Washington.  It  was  he  who  married  Mildred  Cook, 
daughter  of  James  Cook,  an  English  sea-captain  who 
commanded  the  London  Packet,  plying  between  Lon- 
don and  New  York.  Family  tradition  has  it  that  he 
was  a  near  relative  of  Captain  Cook  of  South  Sea 
fame.  When  Fanny  Stevenson  went  a-sailing  in  the 
South  Seas,  following  in  the  track  of  the  great  ex- 


John  Keen,  about  83  years  of  age,  maternal  great-grandfather  of 

Fanny  Van  de  GvuJSmmsme  HoilyiUOOd  Ojfl^Cii  0} 

HARVEY  TAYLOR 

//  AUTHORS'  REPRESENTATIVE 

::^w  yoRK         -:-         eollywoj 

"'^  1822  North  Grv.-zicj  Pl^cc 


ANCESTORS  S 

plorer,  she  boldly  claimed  this  kinship,  and,  much  to 
her  delight,  was  immediately  christened  Tappeni  Too- 
too,  which  was  as  near  as  the  natives  could  come  to 
Captain  Cook's  name. 

We  have  a  charming  old-fashioned  silhouette  por- 
trait in  our  family  of  a  lovely  young  creature  with  a 
dainty  profile  and  curls  gathered  in  a  knot.  It  is 
"sweet  Kitty  Weaver,"  who  married  John  Cook 
Keen,  son  of  the  Revolutionary  hero,  and  became 
the  grandmother  of  Fanny  Stevenson.  Little  Fanny, 
when  on  a  visit  to  Philadelpliia  in  her  childhood 
days,  was  shown  a  pair  of  red  satin  slippers  worn  by 
this  lady,  and  was  no  doubt  given  a  lecture  on  the 
folly  of  vanity,  for  it  was  by  walking  over  the  snow 
to  her  carriage  in  the  little  red  slippers  that  sweet 
Kitty  Weaver  caught  the  cold  which  caused  her 
death. 

Our  mother,  Esther  Thomas  Keen,  one  of  John  and 
Kitty  Keen's  six  children,  was  born  in  Philadelphia, 
December  3,  1811.  She  was  described  by  one  who 
knew  her  in  her  youth  as  "a  little  beauty  of  the  dark 
vivid  type,  with  perfectly  regular  features,  black 
startled  eyes,  and  quantities  of  red-brown  curls  just 
the  color  of  a  cherry  wood  sideboard  that  stood  in 
her  house."  She  was  a  tiny  creature,  under  five  feet 
in  height,  and  never  in  her  life  weighed  more  than 
ninety  pounds;  but  in  spite  of  that  she  was  exceed- 
ingly strong,  swift  in  her  movements,  straight  as  an 
arrow  to  the  end  of  her  days,  and  always  went  leaping 
up  the  stairs,  even  when  she  was  over  eighty.  Fear 
was  absolutely  unknown  to  her.  She  once  caught 
a  mad  dog  and  held  its  mouth  shut  with  her  hands, 


4        LIFE  OF  MRS.  R.  L.  STEVENSON 

protecting  her  children  till  help  came.  She  was  re- 
sourceful in  emergency,  whether  it  was  sickness  or 
accident,  and  never  lost  her  presence  of  mind.  She 
had  a  tender  sympathy  for  animals  and  all  weak,  suf- 
fering, and  young  creatures,  and  it  could  be  truth- 
fully said  of  her,  as  of  Joran  Kyn,  her  ancestor,  that 
she  "never  irritated  even  a  child."  Her  daughter 
Fanny  said  of  her:  "I  never  heard  my  mother  speak 
an  angry  word,  no  matter  what  the  provocation,  and 
she  was  tlie  mother  of  seven  children.  No  matter 
what  the  offense  might  be  she  always  found  an 
excuse."  In  this  she  was  like  the  old  Scotch  woman 
who,  when  told  she  would  find  something  to  praise 
even  in  the  devil,  said:  "Weel,  there's  nae  deny  in' 
he's  a  verra  indoostrious  body." 

It  was  from  our  little  mother  that  my  sister  Fanny 
inherited  her  vivid  dark  beauty,  her  reticence,  her 
fortitude  in  suffering,  her  fearlessness  in  the  presence 
of  danger,  and  her  unfailing  resourcefulness. 

Jacob  Leendertsen  Van  de  Grift,  the  first  paternal 
ancestor  of  whom  we  have  any  record,  settled  in 
Bucks  County,  Pennsylvania,  towards  the  close  of 
the  seventeenth  century.  The  graves  of  several  of 
his  descendants  are  still  to  be  seen  in  the  fine  old 
cemetery  at  Andalusia,  and  upon  the  tombstone  of 
one  of  them  is  this  epitaph: 

"Farewell  my  friends  and  wife  so  dear, 
I  am  not  dead  but  sleeping  here. 
My  debts  are  paid,  my  grave  you  see." 

This  name  has  descended  in  an  unbroken  line  from 
Jacob  Leendertsen  Van  de  Grift,  of  New  Amsterdam, 


ANCESTORS  5 

through  eleven  generations,  to  the  brother  of  Fanny 
Stevenson,  Jacob  Van  de  Grift,  of  Riverside,  Cali- 
fornia. 

John  Miller,  a  paternal  great-grandfather  of  ours, 
was  also  Dutch.  The  family  account  of  him  is  that 
he  fought  at  Brandywine,  crossed  the  Delaware  with 
Washington,  was  wounded  at  the  battle  of  Trenton, 
and  that  when  he  died,  at  the  age  of  eighty-four 
years,  the  city  of  Philadelphia  paid  him  the  tribute 
of  burial  with  military  honours. 

Miller  married  twice,  and  it  was  Elizabeth,  a  daugh- 
ter by  his  second  wife,  who  married  a  Jacob  Van  de 
Grift. 

Her  son,  Jacob  Van  de  Grift,  was  born  in  Philadel- 
phia in  1816.  Upon  the  early  death  of  her  first  hus- 
band she  married  again,  presenting  to  her  children 
the  cruel  stepfather  of  fiction.  Indeed,  the  story  of 
our  father's  childhood  and  youth  and  the  adventures 
of  his  brothers  and  sisters  reads  more  like  melodrama 
than  sober  fact.  One  brother,  Harry,  wandering 
disconsolate  in  the  market-place,  was  carried  off  by 
a  kind  and  wealthy  Kentuckian,  who  took  a  fancy  to 
the  handsome  boy  and  brought  him  up  as  his  own 
son.  Matilda,  the  beauty  of  the  family,  seeing  a 
peaceful  Quaker  couple  sitting  by  a  window,  was  so 
struck  by  the  contrast  between  their  gentle  lives  and 
her  own  that  she  went  into  the  house  and  asked  to 
be  allowed  to  stay  with  them.  The  kind-hearted 
people  were  so  touched  by  her  distress  and  beauty 
that  they  adopted  her  as  their  own.  Little  Jacob, 
encouraged  by  the  success  of  his  brother  and  sister, 
ran  away  on  his  own  account,  but  fell  into  evil  hands, 


6        LIFE  OF  MRS.  R.  L.  STEVENSON 

and  was  beaten  and  ill-used  until  rescued  by  his 
beautiful  sister  Matilda.  Fortunately  for  Jacob,  he 
found  favour  in  the  sight  of  Grandfather  Miller,  who 
educated  him,  dressed  him  well,  and  gave  him  a  good 
allowance.  At  this  time  there  was  an  outbreak  of 
small  riots  in  Philadelphia,  caused  by  roughs  attack- 
ing the  Quakers.  The  "shadbellies,"  as  they  were 
derisively  called,  did  not  fight  back,  which  made  the 
sport  all  the  more  alluring  to  the  cowardly  rioters. 
Young  Van  de  Grift,  who  was  an  excellent  amateur 
boxer,  joined  in  these  frays  with  enthusiasm  in  de- 
fense of  the  Quakers.  It  was  not  onlj'  his  fine  Ameri- 
can spirit  of  fair  play  that  urged  him  into  these  fights, 
but  he  felt  a  deep  gratitude  to  the  Quakers  all  his  life 
on  account  of  his  sister  Matilda.  Strangely  enough. 
Grandfather  Miller  disapproved  of  young  Van  de 
Grift's  conduct.  He  scolded  and  fumed,  and  when, 
early  one  morning,  his  grandson  was  found  on  his 
door-step  beaten  black  and  blue,  the  unreasonable  old 
man,  utterly  losing  sight  of  the  chivalric  cause,  sent 
the  troublesome  lad  away — to  the  farthest  place,  in 
fact,  that  he  could  reach.  This  place  turned  out  to 
be  the  frontier  backwoods  town  of  Indianapolis,  In- 
diana. 

Here  Jacob's  attention  was  soon  attracted  by  a 
pretty  young  woman,  a  tiny,  dainty  creature  named 
Esther  Keen  (our  mother,  whom  I  have  already  de- 
scribed), who  was  on  a  visit  to  her  sister.  The  rec- 
ords show  that  they  were  married  in  Philadelphia  in 
1837. 

Like  many  another  irresponsible  j'oung  man,  Jacob 
Van  de  Grift  married  became  quite  a  different  per- 


Jacob  Van  de  Grift,  about  56  years  of  age,  father  of  Fanny 
Van  de  Grift  Stevenson 


ANCESTORS  7 

son.  Returning  to  Indianapolis,  he  built  a  house  for 
himself  with  the  aid  of  friends,  and,  launching  out 
into  the  lumber  business,  soon  became  one  of  the 
prosperous  and  solid  citizens  of  the  place.  His  house 
was  on  the  "Circle,"  next  door  to  Henry  Ward 
Beecher's  church.  This  was  Mr.  Beecher's  first  pas- 
torate, and  between  him  and  his  neighbour  a  warm 
friendship  sprang  up.  In  after  years,  when  Beecher 
had  become  a  national  figure  and  scandal  attacked 
his  name,  the  friend  of  his  youth,  Jacob  Van  de  Grift, 
clung  loyally  to  his  faith  in  his  old  pastor  and  firmly 
refused  to  believe  any  of  the  charges  against  him. 

The  little  house  on  the  Circle  was  made  into  a 
pleasant  home  partly  by  furniture  sent  by  Jacob's 
mother  from  Philadelphia,  partly  by  articles  made 
by  himself,  for  he  had  served  a  short  apprenticeship 
at  cabinet-making  while  living  in  his  grandfather's 
house.  Among  other  pieces  of  furniture  made  by 
him  was  the  cradle  in  which  Fanny  Van  de  Grift  was 
rocked.  As  long  as  she  lived  she  never  forgot  just 
how  this  cradle  looked. 

Jacob  Van  de  Grift,  father  of  Fanny  Van  de  Grift 
Stevenson,  was  a  fine-looking  man,  broad-shouldered 
and  deep-chested,  slightly  above  medium  height,  blue- 
eyed,  black-haired,  and  with  the  regular  features  and 
rosy  complexion  of  liis  Dutch  ancestors.  One  par- 
ticularly noticed  the  extraordinarily  keen  expression 
of  his  eyes,  which  seemed  to  pin  you  to  the  wall  when 
he  looked  at  you.  This  penetrating  glance  was  in- 
herited by  his  daughter  Fanny,  and  was  often  re- 
marked upon  by  those  who  met  her.  He  made  money 
easily  but  spent  it  royally,  and,  in  consequence,  died 


8        LIFE  OF  MRS.  R.  L.  STEVENSON 

comparatively  poor.  He  had  a  hasty  temper  but  a 
generous  heart,  and  while  his  hand  was  always  open 
to  the  poor  and  unhappy,  it  was  a  closed  fist  ready  to 
strike  straight  from  the  shoulder  to  resent  an  insult 
or  defend  the  oppressed.  Like  his  ancestor  of  the 
Andalusia  cemetery,  he  could  not  endure  to  owe  any 
man  a  debt.  It  was  from  our  father  that  my  sister 
Fanny  inherited  her  broad  and  tolerant  outlook  on 
life,  her  hatred  of  injustice  and  cruelty,  her  punctili- 
ousness in  money  matters,  and  her  steadfast  loyalty 
to  friends. 


CHAPTER  II 
EARLY  DAYS  IN  INDIANA 

When  Jacob  Van  de  Grift  arrived  in  Indianapolis 
in  1836  the  first  rawness  of  frontier  life  had  passed 
away,  and  many  of  the  comforts  of  civilization  had 
made  their  way  out  from  the  East  or  up  from  New 
Orleans.  When  he  married  Esther  Keen  he  took 
her  to  live  in  the  little  red  house,  which,  as  I  have 
already  said,  he  had  built  next  door  to  Henry  Ward 
Beecher's  church,  opposite  the  Governor's  Circle. 
Seven  children  in  all  were  granted  to  them,  of  whom 
the  eldest,  a  daughter,  was  born  on  March  10,  1840, 
in  this  same  little  red  house  on  the  Circle.  When  the 
infant  was  two  years  old  she  and  her  mother  were 
taken  into  the  Second  Presbyterian  Church,  and  were 
baptized  by  Henry  Ward  Beecher  in  the  White  River, 
in  the  presence  of  a  concourse  of  several  thousand 
spectators.  The  record  of  this  noteworthy  occasion 
is  still  preserved  in  the  church  at  Indianapolis. 

The  little  girl  was  named  Frances  Matilda,  but 
when  she  grew  older  the  second  name  was  finally 
dropped.  To  her  family  and  friends  she  was  known 
as  *' Fanny." 

The  main  source,  in  fact  almost  the  only  one,  from 
which  I  have  been  able  to  draw  a  description  of  the 
childhood  of  Fanny  Stevenson  is  an  article  on  early 
reminiscences  written  by  my  sister  herself,  which  was 

9 


10       LIFE  OF  MRS.  R.   L.  STEVENSON 

found  among  her  papers  after  her  death.  As  she  was 
always  her  own  worst  critic,  she  has  dwelt  on  mis- 
chievous childish  escapades  and  has  said  little  of  the 
sweetness  and  charm  and  warm  generosity  that  even 
then  drew  all  hearts  to  her.  From  this  article,  called 
A  Backwoods  Childhood,  I  quote  the  following  extracts 
for  the  sake  of  the  vivid  picture  they  give  of  those 
Indiana  days: 

"Our  life  in  the  backwoods  was  simple  and  natural; 
we  had  few  luxuries,  but  we  had  few  cares.  In  our 
kitchen  gardens  potatoes,  cabbages,  onions,  toma- 
toes, Indian  corn,  and  numerous  other  vegetables 
grew  most  luxuriantly;  and  of  fruits  we  had  great 
abundance.  We  lived  a  natural  life  and  were  con- 
tent. The  loom  and  the  spinning-wheel,  though 
they  had  by  this  time  largely  disappeared  from  the 
towns,  still  had  a  place  in  every  farmhouse.  We 
raised  our  own  food  and  made  our  own  clothing,  often 
of  the  linsey-woolsey  woven  by  the  women  on  their 
home-made  looms.  We  breakfasted  by  the  light  of  a 
tin  lamp  fed  with  lard,  four  o'clock  being  a  not  un- 
usual hour,  dined  at  noon,  supped  at  five,  and  went 
to  bed  with  the  chickens.  Our  carpets  were  made  of 
our  old  cast-off  garments  torn  into  strips,  the  strips 
then  sewn  together  at  the  ends  and  woven  into  carpet 
breadths  by  a  neighbor,  who  took  her  pay  in  kind. 
Wheat  broken  and  steeped  in  water  gave  a  fine  white 
starch  fit  for  cooking  as  well  as  laundry  work.  We 
tapped  the  maple  tree  for  sugar,  and  drank  our  sassa- 
fras tea  with  relish.  The  virgin  forest  furnished  us 
with  a  variety  of  nuts  and  berries  and  wild  fruits,  to 
say  nothing  of  more  beautiful  wild  flowers  than  I  have 


EARLY  DAYS  IN  INDIANA  11 

seen  in  any  other  part  of  the  world,  and,  laid  up  in 
the  trunks  of  hollow  trees,  were  rich  stores  of  wild 
honey. 
"Except  for  ague  we  had  little  sickness,  and  for 
ordinary  ailments  healing  herbs  waited  everywhere 
for  seeing  eyes.  These  were  calamus,  bloodroot, 
snakeroot,  slippery  elm,  tansy,  and  scores  that  I  do 
not  remember  the  names  of.  There  was  sumach  for 
tanning  and  butternut  for  dyeing;  hickory  wood  for 
our  fires  and  hard  black  walnut  for  our  house-building 
and  fences.  Everything  that  we  needed  for  comfort 
or  health  was  within  reach  of  our  hands.  Nor  in  this 
wholesome  simple  life  were  the  arts  forgotten.  Among 
us  lived  a  poetess  who  is  quoted  wherever  English  is 
spoken.*  Tlieatricals  were  cultivated,  and  my  father 
belonged  to  a  Thespian  society.  We  had  good  paint- 
ers, too,  and  at  this  moment  there  hangs  before  me 
my  father's  portrait  at  the  age  of  twenty,  done  by 
Cox  of  Indianapolis,  which  has  been  praised  and 
admired  by  both  French  and  English  artists  of  repu- 
tation. 

"Wlien  we  made  maple  sugar  there  were  the  great 
fires  built  out-of-doors  with  logs  that  needed  the 
strength  of  two  men  to  carry;  the  bubbling  cauldrons, 
and  the  gay  company  of  neighbors  come  to  help;  the 
camp  where  the  work  went  on  all  night  to  the  sound 
of  laughter  and  song. 

"And  the  woods,  traversed  by  cool  streams,  where 
wild  vines  clambering  from  tree  to  tree  made  bowers 
fit  for  any  fairy  queen — what  a  place  of  enchantment 

*  Sarah  Tittle  Bolton,  known  for  hen  patriotic  and  war  songs,  among 
tbem  "Paddle  Your  Own  Canoe"  aad  "Left  on  the  Battlefield." 


12       LIFE  OF  MRS.   R.   L.   STEVENSON 

for  a  child !  There  were  may  apples  to  be  gathered 
and  buried  to  ripen,  and  as  you  turned  up  the  earth 
there  was  always  the  chance  that  you  might  find  a 
flint  arrowhead. 

"Then,  too,  there  were  shell  barks,  hickory  nuts, 
walnuts,  and  butternuts  to  be  gathered,  husked  and 
dried,  an  operation  which  produced  every  fall  a  sud- 
den eruption  of  the  society  of  the  'Black  Hand' 
among  the  boys  and  girls.  Haw  apples,  elderberries, 
wild  gooseberries,  blackberries,  and  raspberries  pro- 
vided variety  of  refreshment.  Or  you  might,  as  I 
often  did,  gather  the  wild  grapes  from  over  your  head, 
press  them  in  your  hands,  catch  the  juice  in  the  neck 
of  a  dried  calabash,  and  toss  off  the  blood-red  wine. 
With  my  romantic  notions,  imbibed  from  my  read- 
ing, I  always  called  it  the  blood-red  wine,  though  it 
was  in  reality  a  rather  muddy  looking  gray-colored 
liquid  with  the  musky  flavor  peculiar  to  wild  grapes. 
This  wild  dissipation  I  felt  compelled  to  abandon 
after  I  joined  a  temperance  society  and  wore  a  tinsel 
star  on  my  breast. 

"Through  the  little  hamlet  where  I  was  born  ran, 
like  a  great  artery,  the  National  Road.  Starting  in 
the  far  East,  it  crossed  the  continent,  looked  in  on  us 
rustics,  and  finally  lost  itself  in  the  wilds  of  Illinois. 
Though  we  lay  on  the  banks  of  a  romantic  river,  and 
a  canal,  a  branch  of  the  Erie,  languidly  crawled  beside 
us,  breathing  fever  and  ague  as  it  passed,  the  Road 
was  our  only  real  means  of  communication  with  the 
outside  world.  The  river,  though  of  a  good  breadth, 
had  too  many  shoals  and  rapids  to  be  navigable;  and 
though  now  and  then  boats  crept  along  by  the  tow- 


EARLY  DAYS  IN  INDIANA  13 

path  of  the  canal,  I  never  heard  that  they  landed  or 
received  any  produce.  The  streets  of  Indianapolis 
had  no  names  then;  it  was  too  lost  a  place  for  that, 
and  we  just  said  the  'main  street.'  This  was  after- 
wards called  Washington  Street,  and  was  really  a 
part  of  the  National  Road.  Oh  but  that  was  roman- 
tic to  me,  leading  as  it  did  straight  out  into  the 
wide,  wide  world !  At  certain  intervals,  about  once 
in  two  weeks,  the  weather  and  the  state  of  the  road 
allowing,  a  lumbering  vehicle  called  a  *mud  wagon' 
left  for  regions  unknown  to  me  with  passengers  and 
freight.  I  don't  know  where  it  came  from,  but  on 
its  return  it  brought  letters  to  my  father  from  his 
mother,  who  lived  in  Philadelphia. 

"Sometimes  bands  of  Indians,  wrapped  in  blan- 
kets, came  through  the  town.  They  seemed  friendly 
enough  and  no  one  showed  any  fear  of  them. 

"We  little  girls  wore  pantalettes,  to  our  ankles,  and 
our  dresses  were  whale-boned  down  the  front,  with 
very  long  bodices.  We  had  wide  flat  hats  trimmed 
with  wreaths  of  roses  and  tied  under  our  chins.  We 
wore  low  necks  and  short  sleeves  summer  and  winter. 
I  was  thin  but  very  tough.  My  Aunt  Knodle*  made 
long  mittens  for  me  out  of  nankeen  beautifully  em- 
broidered; they  came  up  to  my  shoulders,  and  were 
sewn  on  every  day  to  keep  me  from  spoiling  my 
hands.  My  hair  was  braided  in  front  and  my  every- 
day gingham  sunbonnet  sewn  to  my  hair.  This  was 
done  in  the  vain  hope  of  keeping  off  sunburn,  for  I 
was  dark,  like  my  mother,  and  my  complexion  was 

*  The  "k"  is  silent  in  this  name.     Elizabeth  Knodle  was  the  elder  sister 
of  Esther  Van  de  Grift. 


14      LIFE  OF  MRS.  R.  L.  STEVENSON 

the  despair  of  her  life.  Beauty  of  the  fair  blonde 
type  was  in  vogue  then,  so  that  I  was  quite  out  of 
fashion.  It  was  thought  that  if  one  was  dark  one 
had  a  wicked  temper." 

In  reality,  Fanny,  with  her  clear  olive  skin,  her 
bright  black  eyes,  her  perfectly  regular  features,  and 
mass  of  half-curling  dark  hair,  was  the  prettiest  in 
the  family;  but  the  dictates  of  fashion  are  imperious, 
so  her  mother  put  lotions  on  her  face  and  her  grand- 
mother washed  it  with  strong  soap,  saying:  "She  is 
that  color  by  nature — God  made  her  ugly."  The 
little  girl  asked  rather  pathetically  if  they  would  not 
change  her  name  to  Lily,  to  which  her  mother  replied : 
"You  are  a  little  tiger  lily!"  In  after  years  in  her 
many  gardens  in  different  parts  of  the  world  there 
were  always  tiger  lilies  growing.  She  was  a  high- 
spirited,  daring  creature,  a  little  flashing  firefly  of  a 
child,  eagerly  seeking  for  adventure,  that  might  have 
brought  upon  her  frequent  punishment  were  it  not 
that  her  parents  held  exceedingly  liberal  views  in 
such  matters.     About  this  she  says: 

"Henry  Ward  Beecher  and  my  father  were  great 
friends,  and  used  to  discuss  very  earnestly  the  proper 
method  of  bringing  up  children.  At  that  time  it  was 
the  custom  to  be  extremely  severe  with  youth,  and 
such  axioms  as  *  spare  the  rod  and  spoil  the  child,' 
'to  be  seen  and  not  heard,'  were  popular;  so  that  the 
views  held  by  Mr.  Beecher  and  my  father  were  de- 
cidedly modern.  They  argued  that  if  a .  child  was 
bad  by  nature  it  would  grow  up  bad,  and  that  if  it 
was  good  it  would  grow  up  good,  and  that  it  was 
best  not  to  interfere  with  the  development  of  chil- 


EARLY  DAYS  IN  INDIANA  15 

dren's  characters,  but  to  allow  them  to  have  their 
own  way." 

As  Esther  Van  de  Grift  limited  her  corrections  of 
her  children  to  an  occasional  mild  remonstrance,  they 
worked  out  their  own  individualities  with  little  inter- 
ference. Fanny  was  what  the  children  called  a  "tom- 
boy," and  always  preferred  the  boys'  sports,  the  more 
daring  the  better.  She  roamed  the  woods  with  her 
cousin  Tom  Van  de  Grift,  and  the  two  kindred  wild 
spirits  climbed  trees,  forded  streams  up  to  their  necks, 
did  everything,  in  fact,  that  the  most  adventurous 
boy  could  think  of.  School  was  a  secondary  affair 
then,  and,  except  for  drawing  and  painting,  in  which 
she  was  thought  to  have  a  remarkable  talent,  Fanny 
paid  little  attention  to  her  studies. 

Wlien  she  was  a  little  girl  she  was  caught  in  the 
wave  of  a  great  temperance  revival  which  was  sweep- 
ing over  the  country,  and,  in  her  enthusiasm  to  aid 
in  the  work,  she  produced  two  drawings  that  caused 
a  sensation.  One,  representing  a  rickety  house  with 
broken  windows,  a  crooked  weed-grown  path  leading 
up  to  a  gate  fallen  off  the  hinges,  and  a  fence  with 
half  the  pickets  off,  she  labelled  "The  Drunkard's 
Home."  Then  she  drew  a  companion  picture  of  a 
neat  farmhouse  with  a  straight  path,  and  fence  and 
gate  all  in  apple-pie  order,  which  she  called  "The 
Reformed  Drunkard's  Home."  These  two  drawings 
she  presented  at  a  public  meeting  to  Doctor  Thomp- 
son, the  leader  of  the  movement.  Fifty  years  after- 
wards she  met  Mrs.  Thompson,  who  said  she  still 
had  the  pictures  and  thought  them  "very  beauti- 
ful." 


16       LIFE   OF  MRS.   R.   L.   STEVENSON 

In  spite  of  her  indifference  to  study  she  was  very 
precocious,  and  learned  to  read  at  what  was  consid- 
ered by  her  parents'  friends  as  an  objectionably  early 
age.  Her  father  was  very  proud  of  the  accomplish- 
ments of  his  little  daughter,  and  liked  to  show  her 
off  before  his  friends,  who,  to  speak  the  truth,  looked 
with  extreme  disfavour  upon  the  performance.  Once 
Mr.  Page  Chapman,  editor  of  a  newspaper,  put  her 
through  an  examination  on  some  subjects  about 
which  she  had  been  reading  in  Familiar  Science,  a 
work  arranged  in  the  form  of  questions  and  answers. 
He  asked:  "What  is  the  shape  of  the  world.'*" 
"Round,"  she  replied.  "Then  why  don't  we  fall 
off.f*"  he  asked,  and  she  answered:  "Because  of  the 
attraction  of  gravitation."  "This  is  awful,"  he  said, 
in  horror  at  such  precocity. 

Her  father  had  a  taste  for  verse,  and  often  when 
walking  with  his  children  would  recite  a  favourite 
poem,  more,  evidently,  for  his  own  amusement  than 
theirs.  Of  this  Fanny  writes:  "He  used  to  declaim 
so  often,  in  a  loud,  solemn  voice,  'My  name  is  Norval 
— on  the  Grampian  Hills  my  father  feeds  his  flocks,' 
that  I  naturally  received  the  impression  that  these 
flocks  and  hills  were  part  of  my  paternal  grandfather's 
estate.  Years  afterwards  when  I  was  traveling  in 
Scotland  and  asked  the  name  of  some  hills  I  saw  in 
the  distance,  I  felt  a  mental  shock  when  told  they 
were  the  Grampian  Hills." 

As  I  have  said  before,  there  was  no  discipline  in  the 
Van  de  Grift  household,  and  though  the  neighbours 
predicted  dire  results  from  such  a  method  of  bringing 
up  a  family,  one  result,  at  least,  was  that  every  one 


EARLY  DAYS  IN  INDIANA  17 

of  Jacob  Van  de  Grift's  children  adored  him,  and 
none  more  whole-heartedly  than  his  eldest  born. 
She  writes  of  him : 

"My  father  was  a  splendid  horseman  and  excelled 
in  all  athletic  things.  He  had  such  immense  shoulders 
and  such  a  deep  chest,  though  his  hands  and  feet 
were  remarkably  small.  I  can  remember  when  he 
and  I  would  go  out  to  a  vacant  lot  that  he  owned 
near  Indianapolis  and  I  would  sit  on  the  fence  and 
watch  him  ride  and  perform  circus  tricks  on  horse- 
back, riding  around  in  a  circle.  Though  his  hands 
were  so  small  and  fair,  with  rosy  palms  and  delicately 
pointed  fingers,  they  were  strong  hands  and  capable, 
for  they  fashioned  the  cradle  my  mother  rocked  me 
in,  and  the  chest  of  drawers  made  of  maple-wood 
stained  to  imitate  mahogany,  where  she  stored  my 
baby  linen  with  those  old-fashioned  herbs,  ambrosia 
and  sweet  basil.  Years  ago  the  cradle  was  passed 
on  to  a  neighbor  who  needed  it  more  than  we,  but  the 
chest  of  drawers  is  still  in  use,  a  sound  and  very  ser- 
viceable piece  of  furniture,  good  for  several  genera- 
tions more.  It  was  an  eventful  day  in  my  childhood 
when,  perched  on  a  high  chair,  I  was  allowed  to  ex- 
plore the  mysteries  of  the  top  drawer  and  hold  in 
my  own  hands  the  trinkets,  ear-rings,  brooches,  and 
fine  laces  worn  by  my  mother  in  her  youth,  but  now 
laid  aside  as  useless  in  this  new,  strange,  and  busy 
life  of  the  backwoods.  There,  too,  were  pieces  of  my 
maternal  grandmother's  (Ejtty  Weaver's)  gowns, 
satin  that  shimmered  and  changed  from  puiple  to 
gold,  'stiff  enough,'  as  my  mother  said,  *to  stand 
alone,'  and  my  great-grandfather  Miller's  tortoise- 


IS       LIFE  OF  MRS.   R.   L.   STEVENSON 

shell  snuff-box  containing  a  tonquin  bean  that  had 
not  yet  lost  its  peculiar  fragrance. 

"AVhile  I  gazed  reverently  on  these  treasures,  the 
tale  of  Kitty  Weaver's  deatli,  which  I  already  knew 
by  heart,  was  told  me  once  again.  She  was  a  beauty 
and  loved  gaiety,  and  got  her  death  by  going  to  a 
ball  in  thin  slippers.  I  supposed,  in  my  childish  igno- 
rance, that  tliis  radiant  creature  went  about  all  day 
long  in  shining  silks  that  stood  alone,  and  never  by 
any  chance  wore  other  than  red  satin  slippers.  My 
paternal  grandmother,  Elizabeth  Miller,  sniffed  a  lit- 
tle at  my  enthusiasm,  and  averred  that  she,  too,  in 
her  time,  had  worn  silks  that  stood  alone  and  slippers 
of  a  much  smaller  size  than  those  of  Kitty  Weaver. 
But  when  I  looked  at  my  grandmother,  with  her 
high  hooked  nose,  her  large  black-browed  blue  eyes, 
as  keen  as  swords,  the  haughty  outline  of  her  curved 
lips,  her  massive  shoulders  and  deep  chest,  her  domi- 
neering expression,  and  listened  to  her  imperious 
voice,  doubts  assailed  me.  I  could  believe  that  she 
had  led  an  army  of  amazons  in  cuirass  and  buckler, 
but  my  imagination  refused  to  picture  her  in  a  silken 
train  smiling  at  gallants  from  behind  her  fan;  and 
surely,  I  thought,  no  one  in  the  whole  world  ever 
went  tripping  to  a  ball  in  such  strange  and  monstrous 
headgear  as  she  wore.  Yet  she  had  been  a  notable 
beauty  in  her  day,  and  even  in  her  old  age  was  still 
something  of  a  coquette. 

"It  was  sometimes  my  privilege  to  sleep  with  my 
grandmother,  and  I  felt  it  to  be  a  great  one,  for  she 
was  the  best  teller  of  stories  I  ever  heard.  Her  relig- 
ion was  of  the  most  terrible  kind — the  old-fashioned 


EARLY  DAYS  IN  INDIANA  19 

Presbyterianism  which  taught  that  hell  was  paved 
with  infants'  souls,  and  such  horrors.  She  always 
said,  when  she  heard  of  the  death  of  a  young  child, 
that  the  chances  were  it  would  become  a  little  angel, 
which  it  would  not  have  done  if  it  had  lived  to  be  a 
little  older.  I  was  shocked  to  hear  my  mother  say 
she  preferred  having  her  children  little  living  devils 
rather  than  dead  angels.  After  prayers,  all  about 
hell  and  damnation,  which  she  said  aloud,  I  was  put 
to  bed  against  the  wall.  The  bedstead,  a  big  mahog- 
any four-poster,  had  to  be  mounted  like  an  omnibus. 
That,  and  the  feather  bed,  and  the  mattress  stuffed 
with  the  *best  curled  hair,'  were  presents  sent  to  my 
father  from  Philadelphia,  and  were  a  great  source  of 
pride  to  me,  especially  the  mattress,  which  I  believed 
to  be  stuffed  with  beautiful  human  curls. 

"From  my  nest  in  the  feather  bed  I  watched  my 
grandmother  disrobe  with  growing  terror.  First  she 
unpinned  and  folded  away  a  white  kerchief  she  always 
wore  primly  crossed  over  her  bosom.  Then  she  re- 
moved a  white  lace  cap  that  was  tied  under  her  chin 
with  ribbons;  then  she  took  off  what  I  supposed  to  be 
a  portion  of  her  scalp,  but  now  know  was  a  'false 
front.'  This  was  bad  enough,  but  there  was  worse 
to  come;  there  still  remained  a  black  silk  skull  cap 
that  covered  the  thick  white  hair  worn  cropped  closely 
to  her  head.  When  she  took  off  this  cap  she  seemed 
to  stand  before  me  as  some  strange  and  terrible  man, 
so  at  this  point  I  always  covered  my  head  with  the 
bedclothes  until  the  light  was  extinguished. 

"After  getting  into  bed,  my  grandmother,  who  told 
every  incident  as  dramatically  as  though  she  had 


20      LIFE  OF  MRS.  R.   L.  STEVENSON 

participated  in  it  herself,  related  appalling  stories 
about  witches,  death,  apparitions,  and  the  Inquisi- 
tion. These  stories  made  such  a  powerful  impression 
on  me  that  it  is  no  wonder  that  I  remember  them 
after  sixty  years.  Though  my  terror  of  my  grand- 
mother in  this  guise  was  excessive,  I  do  not  think  I 
should  have  liked  the  stories,  generally  grim  and 
tragic,  so  well  in  a  different  setting. 

"Aunt  Knodle  was  very  neat  and  orderly,  high- 
tempered  and  somewhat  domineering,  but  possessing 
a  singular  charm.  Children  liked  to  go  to  her  house 
even  though  they  were  made  to  be  on  their  best  be- 
havior while  they  were  there.  Everything  in  her 
house  was  in  what  we  would  call  good  taste  to-day. 
She  had  beautiful  old  china,  fine  silver,  and  good  fur- 
niture, everything  rich  and  dark.  The  house  was  a 
long  rambling  cottage,  w^th  a  turn  in  it  to  match  the 
irregular  shape  of  the  lot.  It  had  many  gables  and 
dormer  windows,  and  the  whole  was  covered  with 
creeping  roses,  and  there  was  a  faint  sweet  smell 
about  it  that  I  think  I  would  know  now.  The  master 
of  this  delightful  house,  Adam  Knodle,  was  as  near  a 
saint  on  earth  as  a  man  can  be;  he  was  kind  to  every- 
body and  everything.  He  was  extremely  absent- 
minded,  and  his  wife  liked  to  tell  how  he  once  killed  a 
chicken  for  the  family  dinner  and  threw  away  the 
chicken  and  brought  in  the  head. 

"My  aunt  was  an  ardent  lover  of  animals,  and 
abhorred  cruelty  to  them  in  any  form.  She  had  a 
dog  named  Ponto,  an  ugly  ill-tempered  little  black 
dog  of  no  pedigree  whatever,  who  ruled  as  king  in 
that  house.     He  was  accustomed  to  lie  on  a  silk 


EARLY  DAYS  IN  INDIANA  21 

cushion  in  the  window  commanding  the  best  view. 
My  aunt  used  to  sit  at  one  of  the  windows — not 
Ponto's,  I  can  tell  you — ready,  like  Dickens's  heroine, 
Betsy  Trotwood,  to  pounce  out  upon  passing  trav- 
elers. Sometimes,  when  she  thought  a  horse  was 
being  driven  too  fast,  she  rushed  out  and  seized  it  by 
the  bridle  while  she  read  its  driver  a  severe  lecture." 

As  the  years  passed  the  young  girl's  restless  ener- 
gies found  other  outlets.  At  school  she  was  a  bril- 
liant but  not  an  industrious  pupil.  It  was  in  com- 
position that  she  shone  especially,  and  one  of  her 
schoolmates  says  of  her:  "She  always  wrote  her  com- 
positions in  such  an  attractive  way,  weaving  them 
into  a  story,  so  that  the  children  were  eager  to  hear 
them." 

While  attending  high  school  she  became  fired  with 
the  idea  of  writing  a  book  in  conjunction  with  a 
friend,  a  beautiful  Southern  girl  named  Lucy  McCrae. 
The  writing  was  done  secretly,  after  school  hours,  on 
the  steps  of  the  schoolhouse,  while  a  third  friend, 
Ella  Hale,*  kept  guard,  for  the  whole  thing  was  to  be 
a  profound  secret  until  the  world  should  receive  it  as 
the  wonder  of  the  age.  This  great  work  was  brought 
to  a  sudden  end  by  the  illness  of  Lucy  McCrae. 

At  this  time  the  Van  de  Grift  family  were  living 
in  a  house  on  Illinois  Street.  This  house  had  a  cellar 
door  at  the  back.  To  quote  the  words  of  her  school- 
mate, Ella  Hale:  "At  this  cellar  door  the  children 
used  to  gather  to  hear  fairy  and  ghost  stories.  Fanny 
was  always  the  central  figure,  because  she  was  the 
only   one   who   could   tell   really   interesting   stories. 

*  Now  Mrs.  Thaddeus  Up  de  Graff,  of  Elmira,  New  York. 


22       LIFE  OF  MRS.  R.   L.   STEVENSON 

These  gatherings  always  took  place  after  supper,  and 
as  the  shadows  grew  darker  and  darker  during  the 
recital  of  a  particularly  thrilling  gliost  story,  I  clearly 
remember  the  fearful  glances  toward  the  dark  corners 
and  the  crowding  closer  together  of  the  little  ones, 
till  it  sometimes  resulted  in  a  landslide,  and  we  would 
find  ourselves  in  a  heap  on  the  ground  at  the  foot  of 
the  slanting  door,  our  laughter  quickly  dispelling  all 
our  fears." 

Among  Fanny's  playmates  there  was  a  dark,  hand- 
some boy,  with  large,  melancholy  eyes,  named  George 
Marshall,  who  was  not  only  exceedingly  attractive  in 
looks  but  had  many  other  graces.  He  was  a  born 
artist,  and  could  dance,  and  act,  and  sing  like  an 
angel;  and,  best  of  all,  he  was  as  good  as  he  was 
charming.  These  two  were  close  companions  in  all 
sorts  of  strenuous  sports,  and  nothing  annoyed  them 
more  than  to  have  little  teasing  Josephine,  Fanny's 
younger  sister,  trailing  after  them  and  breaking  up 
their  games.  George  finally  announced  that  he  would 
play  no  more  unless  Josephine  could  be  kept  away. 
But  boys  change,  and  when  he  grew  up  he  married 
Josephine. 

Ail  too  soon  came  the  time  when  these  days  of 
careless  childish  joys  were  brought  to  a  close.  A  new 
era  opened,  and  romance,  which  budded  early  in  that 
time  and  place,  began  to  unfold  its  first  tender  leaves. 
Various  youths  of  the  town,  attracted  by  the  piquant 
prettiness  and  sparkling  vivacity  of  the  eldest  daugh- 
ter, began  to  haunt  the  Van  de  Grift  house.  In  the 
sentimental  fasliion  of  the  day,  these  sighing  swains 
carved  her  name  on  the  trees,  and  so  wide  was  the 


EARLY  DAYS  IN  INDIANA  23 

circle  of  her  fascination  that  there  was  scarcely  a  tree 
in  the  place  that  did  not  bear  somewhere  on  its  long- 
suffering  trunk  the  name  or  initials  of  Fanny  Van  de 
Grift.  None  of  these  suitors,  however,  made  any 
impression  on  the  object  of  their  attentions,  who  was 
so  much  of  a  child  that  she  was  walking  on  stilts  in 
the  garden  when  Samuel  Osbourne  first  called  at  the 
house.  He  was  an  engaging  youth,  a  Kentuckian  by 
birth,  with  all  the  suavity  and  charm  of  the  South- 
erner. Behind  him  lay  a  truly  romantic  ancestry, 
for,  through  John  Stewart,  who  was  stolen  and  brought 
up  by  the  Indians,  and  never  knew  his  parentage,  he 
was  a  collateral  descendant  of  Daniel  Boone.* 

On  December  24,  1857,  in  a  house  on  Michigan 
Street,  which  had  already  been  prepared  and  fur- 
nished for  their  occupancy,  Samuel  Osbourne,  aged 
twenty,  and  Fanny  Van  de  Grift,  aged  seventeen, 
were  united  in  marriage.  All  the  notables  of  the 
town,  including  Governor  Willard,  to  whom  young 
Osbourne  was  private  secretary,  and  the  entire  staff 
of  State  officers,  attended.  The  young  bride  looked 
charming  in  a  handsome  gown  of  heavy  white  satin, 
of  the  kind  that  "could  stand  alone,"  of  the  "block'* 
pattern  then  in  vogue,  and  made  in  the  fashion  of  the 
day,  with  full  long-trained  skirt  and  tight  low-necked 
bodice  trimmed  with  a  rich  lace  bertha.  Her  hair 
was  worn  in  curls,  fastened  back  from  the  face  on 

*  Stewart,  who  acquired  by  his  life  among  tlie  Indians  a  thorough 
knowledge  of  the  trails  of  the  country,  became  a  guide,  and  it  was  he 
that  led  Boone  on  the  expedition  to  explore  Kentucky.  The  connection 
between  them  became  even  closer  when  he  married  Boone's  youngest 
sister,  HanoaJi.  At  the  State  eapitol  there  is  a  picture  of  him  in  the 
striking  costume  of  the  hunter  and  trapper,  pointing  out  to  Boone  the 
lovely  land  of  Kentucky. 


24       LIFE  OF  MRS.  R.   L.  STEVENSON 

each  side.  The  groom,  who  is  seldom  mentioned  in 
these  affairs,  deserves  a  word  or  two,  for  he  made  a 
gallant  figm-e  in  a  blue  coat  with  brass  buttons,  flow- 
ered waistcoat,  fawn-coloured  trousers,  strapped  un- 
der varnished  boots,  and  carrying  a  bell-topped  white 
beaver  hat.  One  who  was  a  guest  at  the  wedding 
says,  "They  looked  like  two  children,"  as  indeed 
they  were.  It  was  a  boy-and-girl  marriage  of  the 
kind  people  entered  into  then  with  pioneer  fearless- 
ness, to  turn  out  well  or  ill,  as  fate  decreed. 

The  young  couple  took  up  their  residence  in  the 
same  house  in  which  they  were  married,  and  before 
the  young  husband  was  twenty-one  years  old  their 
first  child,  Isobel,  was  born.  The  little  mother  was 
so  small  and  young-looking  that  once  when  she  was 
on  a  railroad-train  with  her  infant  an  old  gentleman, 
looking  at  her  with  some  concern,  asked:  "Sissy, 
where  is  the  baby's  mother?" 

It  was  now  that  the  great  black  storm-cloud  which 
had  been  hovering  over  the  nation  for  years  broke 
in  all  its  fury  upon  this  border  State.  The  Osboumes, 
together  with  nearly  all  their  friends  and  relatives, 
cast  in  their  lot  with  the  North,  and  young  Osboume 
left  his  family  and  went  to  the  war  as  captain  in  the 
army. 

We  must  now  return  to  the  dark,  handsome  boy, 
George  Marshall,  once  the  favourite  playmate  and 
now  the  brother-in-law  of  Fanny  Van  de  Grift.  He, 
too,  joined  the  colours,  in  command  of  a  company  of 
Zouaves  whom  he  had  himself  gathered  and  trained. 
After  a  time  spent  in  active  service  on  some  of  the 
hardest  fought  battle-fields  of  the  Civil  War,  the  hard- 


EARLY  DAYS  IN  INDIANA  25 

ships  and  exposure  of  the  life  told  upon  a  constitution 
never  at  any  time  robust,  and  he  returned  to  his 
young  wife  a  victim  of  tuberculosis.  The  doctors 
said  his  only  chance  was  to  get  to  the  milder  climate 
of  California,  and  at  the  close  of  the  war  Samuel 
Osbourne,  who  was  his  devoted  friend,  gave  up  posi- 
tion and  prospects  to  accompany  him  thitlier.  The 
two  young  men,  leaving  their  families  behind  them, 
took  ship  at  New  York  for  Panama;  but  the  Angel 
of  Death  sailed  with  them,  and  Captain  Marshall 
breathed  his  last  while  crossing  the  Isthmus. 

Osbourne  decided  to  go  on  to  California,  and  on 
his  arrival  there  was  so  pleased  with  the  country  that 
he  wrote  to  his  wife  to  sell  her  property  at  once  and 
follow  him.  Bidding  a  long  farewell  to  the  loving 
parents  who  had  up  to  that  time  stood  between  her 
and  every  trouble,  Fanny  Osbourne,  at  an  age  when 
most  young  women  are  enjoying  the  care-free  life  of 
irresponsible  girlhood,  took  her  small  daughter  Isobel 
and  set  forth  into  a  new  and  strange  world. 

Crossing  the  Isthmus  by  the  crookedest  railroad 
ever  seen,  she  stopped  at  Panama  to  visit  the  burial- 
place  of  the  young  soldier,  George  Marshall,  her  child- 
hood playmate,  beloved  friend,  and  brother-in-law, 
and  over  that  lonely  grave  the  child  for  the  first  time 
saw  her  girlish  mother  shed  tears. 


CHAPTER  III 
ON  THE  PACIFIC  SLOPE 

When  at  last  the  long  voyage  up  the  Western  coast 
came  to  an  end  and  the  ship  sailed  into  the  broad  bay 
of  San  Francisco,  which  lay  serene  and  beautiful 
under  the  shadow  of  its  towering  guardian.  Mount 
Tamalpais,  Fanny  Osbourne  hung  over  the  rail  and 
surveyed  the  scene  with  eager  interest.  Yet  it  is 
altogether  unlikely  that  any  realization  came  to  her 
then  that  the  lively  seaport  town  that  lay  before  her 
was  to  become  to  her  that  magic  thing  we  call  "home," 
for  men  still  regarded  California  as  a  place  to  "make 
their  pile"  in  and  then  shake  its  dust  from  their  feet. 
Her  stay  here  was  very  brief,  for  her  husband  had 
gone  at  once  to  Nevada  in  the  hope  of  getting  a  foot- 
hold in  the  silver-mines,  which  were  then  "booming," 
and  she  immediately  followed  him. 

From  the  level  green  corn-fields  of  Indiana,  the 
land  of  her  birth,  to  the  grey  sage-brush  of  the  desert 
and  the  naked  mountains  of  Nevada  was  a  long  step, 
but  regrets  were  lost  in  the  absorbing  interest  of  the 
new  life. 

In  a  canyon  high  up  in  the  Toyabee  Range,  about 
six  miles  from  Reese  River,  lay  the  new  mining  camp 
of  Austin,  then  only  about  a  year  old.  Reese  River, 
though  in  summer  it  dries  up  in  places  so  that  its  bed 
is  only  a  series  of  shallow  pools,  is  nevertheless  a  most 
picturesque  stream,   and   Austin   is   surrounded  by 


ON  THE  PACIFIC  SLOPE  27 

mountain  scenery  of  the  stupendous,  awe-insptring 
sort. 

In  a  little  cabin  on  a  mountainside  Fanny  Osbourne 
took  up  her  new  life  amidst  these  strange  surround- 
ings, which  she  found  most  interesting  and  exciting. 
The  men,  who  were  generally  away  from  the  camp 
during  the  day,  working  in  the  mines,  were  all  ad- 
venturers— young,  bold  men — and  though  they  wore 
rough  clothes,  were  nearly  all  college  bred.  In  Austin 
and  its  vicinity  there  were  but  six  women,  and  when 
it  was  decided  to  give  a  party  at  another  camp  miles 
away,  a  thorough  scouring  of  the  whole  surrounding 
country  produced  just  seven  of  the  fair  sex.  These 
ladies  came  in  a  sleigh,  made  of  a  large  packing-box 
put  on  runners,  to  beg  the  newcomer,  Mrs.  Osbourne, 
to  join  them  in  this  festivity.  Having  some  pretty 
clothes  she  had  brought  with  her,  she  hastily  dressed 
by  the  aid  of  a  shining  tin  pan  which  one  of  the 
women  held  up  for  her,  there  being  no  such  thing  as 
a  mirror  in  the  entire  camp.  Years  afterwards,  when 
Mrs.  Osbourne  was  in  Paris,  she  read  in  the  papers  of 
this  woman  as  having  taken  the  whole  fii'st  floor  of 
the  Splendide  Hotel,  which  led  her  to  remark:  "I 
wonder  if  she  remembers  when  she  held  the  tin  pan 
for  me  to  do  my  hair!"  At  the  party  there  W€a*e 
fifty  men  and  seven  women,  and  no  woman  danced 
twice  with  the  same  man.  Among  the  men  was  a 
clergyman,  who  made  himself  very  agreeable  to  Mrs. 
Osbourne.  She  asked  why  she  had  never  heard  of 
him  before,  and  he  replied:  "You  have  heard  of  me,  I 
am  sure,  but  not  by  my  real  name.  They  call  me 
'Squinting  Jesus' !" 


28       LIFE  OF  MRS.  R.  L.  STEVENSON 

Her  pioneer  blood  now  began  to  show  itself  in  all 
kinds  of  inventions  with  which  she  mitigated  the 
discomforts  of  the  raw  mining  camp.  As  vegetables 
were  exceedingly  scarce,  the  diet  of  the  miners  con- 
sisted almost  exclusively  of  meat,  and  Mrs.  Osbourne 
made  a  great  hit  by  her  ingenuity  in  devising  varia- 
tions of  this  monotonous  fare.  She  learned  how  to 
cook  beef  in  fifteen  different  ways.  Her  great  achieve- 
ment, however,  was  in  making  imitation  honey,  to 
eat  with  griddle-cakes,  out  of  boiled  sugar  with  a 
lump  of  alum  in  it. 

All  about  in  the  mountains  there  were  Indians,  be- 
longing to  the  Paiute  tribe,  and  between  1849  and 
1882  there  was  constant  trouble  with  them.  They 
were  a  better-looking  and  moi'e  spirited  race  than 
the  "Diggers"  of  California,  and  consequently  more 
disposed  to  resent  the  frequent  outrages  put  upon 
them  by  irresponsible  men  among  the  whites.  As  an 
instance,  in  1861  some  white  men  stole  horses  from 
the  Indians,  who  then  rose  up  in  retaliation,  and  all 
the  whites,  the  innocent  as  well  as  the  guilty,  were 
compelled  to  unite  for  defense,  a  large  number  losing 
their  Uves  in  the  subsequent  fight. 

In  the  mornings,  while  Mrs.  Osbourne  was  doing 
her  housework  in  the  little  cabin  on  the  hillside,  In- 
dians would  gather  outside  and  press  their  faces 
against  the  window-panes,  their  eyes  following  her 
about  the  room.  There  were  blinds,  but  she  was 
afraid  to  give  offense  by  pulling  them  down.  The 
absence  of  the  Indians  was  sometimes  even  more 
alarming  than  their  presence,  and  once  when  it  was 
noticed  that  none  of  them  had  been  seen  about  the 


ON  THE  PACIFIC   SLOPE  29 

camp  for  several  days,  the  residents  knew  that  trouble 
threatened.  One  night  signal  fires  blazed  on  the  dis- 
tant mountain  tops,  and  a  thrill  of  fear  ran  through 
the  little  community.  The  women  and  children  were 
gathered  in  one  cabin  and  made  to  lie  on  the  floor  and 
keep  quiet.  Even  the  smallest  ones  must  have  felt 
the  danger,  for  not  a  whimper  escaped  them.  One 
of  them  was  a  baby  called  Aurora.  Little  Isobel  Os- 
bourne  thought  she  was  called  "Roarer "  because 
she  bawled  all  the  time,  but  even  "Roarer"  was  quiet 
that  night. 

Among  the  Austin  Indians  there  was  a  little  boy 
who  named  his  pony  "Fanny."  "Did  you  name  it 
for  me.f^"  my  sister  asked.  He  nodded  his  head. 
"Why?"  she  asked,  and  he  said  it  was  because  the 
pony  had  such  little  feet. 

Near  the  Osboume  cabin  lived  a  miner  named 
Johnny  Crakroft.  Mrs.  Osbourne  never  saw  him, 
for  he  was  too  shy  to  speak  to  a  woman,  but  he  left 
offerings  on  her  door-step  or  tied  to  the  knob.  Johnny 
had  killed  a  man  in  Virginia  City,  not  an  unusual 
occurrence  in  those  days,  but  the  circumstances  seem 
to  have  been  such  that  he  did  not  dare  go  back  there. 
Yet,  with  one  of  those  strange  contrasts  so  common 
in  the  life  of  the  mines,  he  was  a  kind-hearted,  domes- 
tic soul,  and  on  baking  days  he  made  little  dogs  and 
cats  and  elephants  out  of  sweetened  dough,  with  cur- 
rants for  eyes,  for  his  little  pal,  Isobel  Osbourne. 
One  day  he  bestowed  upon  the  child  the  rather  incon- 
gruous present  of  a  bottle  of  quicksilver  and  a  bowie- 
knife,  which  she  proudly  carried  home. 

Other  neighbours  in  a  cabin  on  the  mountainside 


30       LIFE  OF  MRS.  R.   L.  STEVENSON 

were  two  j'oung  Englishmen,  mere  boys  of  twenty  or 
thereabout,  named  John  Lloyd  and  Tom  Reid.  Wish- 
ing to  celebrate  the  Queen's  birthday  in  true  British 
fashion,  they  went  to  Mrs.  Osbourne  to  learn  how  to 
concoct  a  plum  pudding.  They  learned,  only  the 
string  broke  and  the  pudding  had  to  be  served  in 
soup-plates. 

Whatever  else  the  life  and  the  society  may  have 
been,  they  were  never  dull  or  tame.  On  one  occasion, 
while  crossing  the  desert  in  a  stage-coach,  Mrs.  Os- 
bourne met  the  man  said  to  be  the  original  of  Bret 
Harte's  Colonel  Starbottle.  When  the  coach  stopped 
at  a  little  station,  this  gentleman  politely  asked  his 
pretty  fellow  passenger  what  he  could  bring  her.  He 
was  so  flowery  and  pompous  that  as  a  little  joke  she 
asked  for  strawberries,  thinking  them  the  most  im- 
possible thing  to  be  found  at  the  forlorn  little  place. 
To  her  amazement  he  actually  brought  her  the  berries. 

On  another  desert  trip  she  was  allowed,  as  a  special 
favour,  to  sit  on  the  front  seat,  between  the  driver  and 
the  express  messenger.  There  had  been,  not  long 
before,  a  number  of  hold-ups  by  "road  agents,"  and 
when  the  stage  came  to  suspicious-looking  turns  in 
the  road  the  messenger  made  her  put  her  head  down 
on  her  knees  while  he  laid  his  gun  across  her  back. 
She  could  have  gone  inside  with  the  other  women,  of 
course,  but  it  was  like  her  to  prefer  the  seat  with  the 
driver,  with  its  risk  and  its  adventure. 

Later  the  Osboumes  moved  to  Virginia  City,  where 
the  life,  while  not  quite  so  primitive  as  at  Austin,  was 
still  highly  flavoured  with  all  the  spice  of  a  wild  min- 
ing town.     Gambling  went  on  night  and  day,  and  the 


ON  THE  PACIFIC   SLOPE  81 

killing  of  men  over  the  games  still  happened  often 
enough.  In  the  diary  of  a  pioneer  of  that  time, 
Samuel  Orr,  of  Alameda,  who  later  married  one  of 
Mrs.  Osbourne's  sisters,  Cora  Van  de  Grift,  I  find  this 
entry:  "This  is  the  hardest  place  I  ever  struck.  I 
saw  two  men  killed  to-day  in  a  gambling  fight." 
Men  engaged  at  their  work  or  passing  along  the 
streets  were  quite  often  compelled  to  duck  and  dodge 
to  escape  sudden  fusillades  of  bullets.  There  was 
little  regard  for  the  law,  and  "killings"  seldom  re- 
ceived legal  punishment. 

Virginia  City,  despite  its  desolate  environment  of 
grey,  naked  mountains  and  deep,  narrow  ravines,  had 
its  own  rugged  charm.  The  air  was  so  crystal-pure 
that  at  times  one  could  see  as  far  as  one  hundred  and 
eighty  miles  from  its  lofty  seat  on  the  skirts  of  Mount 
Davidson.  Far  to  the  west  and  south  stretched 
a  wonderful  panorama  of  multicoloured  and  snow- 
capped mountains,  and  in  the  gap  between  lay  the 
desert  and  a  fringe  of  green  to  mark  the  course  of  the 
Carson  River.  The  town,  which  lay  immediately 
over  the  famous  Comstock  Lode,  was  built  on  ground 
with  such  a  pitch  that  what  was  the  second  story  of 
a  house  in  front  became  the  first  in  the  back.  Every 
winter  snow  falls  to  a  depth  of  several  feet  in  the 
town,  and  on  the  summit  of  Mount  Davidson  it  never 
melts.  At  that  time  Virginia  City  was  described  as 
**a  lively  place,  wherein  all  kinds  of  industry  as  well 
as  vice  flourished." 

After  their  arrival  here  Samuel  Osbourne  bought 
the  Mills,  Post,  and  White  mine,  and  in  the  interval 
of  waiting  for  results  worked,  like  the  resourceful 


32       LIFE  OF  ]VmS.  R.  L.   STEVENSON 

American  that  he  was,  at  various  employments  to 
earn  a  living  for  himself  and  his  family.  For  a  time 
he  was  clerk  of  the  Justice's  Court  in  Virginia  City. 

It  was  even  so  early  as  in  these  Nevada  mining 
days  that  the  grey  cloud  which  was  to  darken  some 
of  the  best  years  of  her  life  first  appeared  above  the 
young  wife's  horizon,  for  it  was  there  that  the  first 
foreboding  came  to  her  that  her  marriage  was  to  be 
a  failure.  The  wild,  free  life  of  the  West  had  carried 
her  young  and  impressionable  husband  off  his  feet, 
and  the  painful  suspicion  now  came  to  her  that  she 
did  not  reign  alone  in  his  heart.  As  time  passed  this 
trouble  went  from  bad  to  worse,  but  no  more  need  be 
said  of  it  at  this  pwint  except  to  make  it  clear  that 
years  before  her  meeting  with  the  true  love  of  her 
heart,  Robert  Louis  Stevenson,  the  disagreements 
which  finally  resulted  in  the  shattering  of  her  first 
romance  had  already  begun. 

In  1866,  lured  by  reports  of  rich  strikes  in  Mon- 
tana, Osbourne  set  off  on  a  prospecting  tour  to  the 
Cceur  d'Alene  Mountains,  leaving  his  wife  and  child 
in  Virginia  City.  While  in  Montana  he  met  another 
prospector,  Samuel  Orr  (who  afterwards  became  his 
brother-in-law),  and  the  two  joined  forces,  becoming, 
in  miners'  phrase,  "pardners.'* 

Led  on  by  the  ever-fleeing  hope  of  the  great  "strike'* 
that  might  lie  ju5t  ahead,  the  two  men  penetrated  so 
far  into  the  depths  of  this  rugged  mountain  country 
that  they  were  for  some  time  out  of  the  reach  of  mails, 
causing  their  friends  to  finally  give  them  up  as  dead. 
Running  out  of  funds,  they  were  obliged  to  take 
work  at  what  they  could  get,   and  Osbourne  sold 


ON  THE  PACIFIC  SLOPE  3S 

tickets  in  a  theatre  at  Helena,  Montana,  and  later 
took  a  job  in  a  sawmill  at  Bear  Gulch.  At  one  place 
he  and  another  man  bought  up  all  the  coffee  to  be 
had,  and,  after  grinding  it  up,  sold  it  in  small  lots  at 
an  advanced  price. 

Failing  in  their  quest  for  the  elusive  treasure,  Os- 
bourne  and  Orr,  not  being  able  to  cash  the  cheques 
with  which  they  were  paid  for  their  work,  were  at  last 
compelled  to  borrow  the  money  with  which  to  make 
their  way  back  to  civilization  and  their  families. 

About  this  time  the  silver-mining  boom  in  Nevada 
began  to  ebb,  and  there  was  an  exodus  of  men  and 
women,  mostly  discouraged  and  "broke,"  to  San 
Francisco.  As  Mrs.  Osbourne  had  arranged  to  meet 
her  husband  in  that  city,  she  decided  to  join  some  of 
her  friends  in  their  removal  to  the  coast,  and  began 
to  make  preparations  for  the  long,  hard  journey.  In 
those  days  little  girls  wore  very  short  dresses,  with 
several  white  petticoats,  like  ballet  dancers,  and  long 
white  stockings.  This  dress  seemed  peculiarly  un- 
suitable for  the  dusty  stage  trip  across  the  desert,  and 
Mrs.  Osbourne,  meeting  the  situation  with  her  usual 
common  sense,  bought  a  boy's  suit  and  dressed  her 
little  girl  in  it.  The  passengers  called  her  "Billy," 
and  a  sensation  was  created  among  them  when,  after 
arrival  at  the  Occidental  Hotel  in  the  bustling  city 
of  San  Francisco,  the  child  appeared  in  her  own  little 
ballet  costume. 

At  this  date,  1866,  San  Francisco  was  no  longer  a 
mere  resting-place  for  the  birds  of  passage  on  their 
way  to  the  mines,  but  had  become  a  settled  town, 
with  an  air  of  permanency  and  solidity.     It  was  then 


34       LIFE   OF  MRS.   R.   L.   STEVENSON 

compactly  built,  for  it  was  only  the  advent  years 
later  of  the  cable-cars  that  enabled  it  to  spread  out 
over  its  many  hills.  The  glamour  of  the  days  of  the 
first  mad  rush  for  gold,  with  their  feverish  alterna- 
tions of  mounting  hope  and  black  despair,  was  gone, 
but  in  its  stead  had  come  safety  and  comfort,  and 
there  were  few  places  in  the  world  where  one  could 
live  more  agreeably,  or  even  more  luxuriously,  than 
in  San  Francisco  in  the  '60's. 

Here  word  was  brought  that  Osbourne  had  been 
killed  by  the  Indians,  and  life  began  to  bear  heavily 
upon  the  young  wife  and  mother,  stranded  without 
means  in  a  strange  city.  She  put  on  widow's  weeds 
and  looked  about  for  employment  with  which  to  eke 
out  her  fast  diminishing  store.  When  she  was  a  little 
girl  she  had  learned  to  do  fine  se^dng  on  the  ruffles 
for  her  father's  shirts,  and  had  always  made  her  own 
and  her  child's  dresses.  This  talent,  which  proved 
exceedingly  useful  at  various  times  in  her  life,  now 
served  her  in  good  stead.  She  secured  a  situation 
as  fitter  in  a  dressmaking  establishment,  where,  on 
account  of  her  foreign  looks,  she  was  thought  to  be 
French. 

Friends  were  not  lacking,  for  many  looked  with 
pity  upon  the  supposed  widow  struggling  to  keep  her 
head  above  water  in  a  land  so  far  from  her  own  home 
and  family.  During  her  absence  at  work  she  left 
the  child  in  the  care  of  the  kind-hearted  landlady  of 
the  boarding-house  and  her  young  son,  Michael,  still 
gratefully  remembered  as  "Mackerel"  by  Isobel.  In 
the  same  boarding-house  John  Lloyd,  the  young  Eng- 
lishman of  the  Reese  River  days,  had  also  established 


ON  THE  PACIFIC   SLOPE  35 

himself.  On  Sundays,  no  doubt  to  give  the  tired 
mother  a  long  rest,  he  would  take  little  Bel  to  the 
beach  out  by  old  Fort  Point,  where  he  made  swords 
for  her  out  of  driftwood,  played  at  Jack  the  Giant- 
Killer,  and  told  stories  about  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Sea-Gull 
and  what  they  said  to  each  other.  He  even  borrowed 
fairy-tale  books  from  the  public  library  in  order  to 
learn  stories  to  tell  his  little  friend  on  these  Sunday 
outings.  There  came  a  birthday,  with  very  little  to 
make  it  gay,  but  the  kind-hearted  young  man  bought 
a  small  jointed  doll  with  his  meagre  earnings,  and  the 
mother  made  a  set  of  beautiful  clothes  for  it  out  of 
bits  of  bright-coloured  silks  she  had  saved  from  her 
sewing.  This,  with  a  little  table  whittled  out  of  a 
cigar-box  and  a  ten-cent  set  of  dishes,  made  a  glorious 
day  for  the  happy  child.  This  friendship  was  main- 
tained in  later  years,  and  when  the  once  poor  clerk 
became  a  bank  president,  Fanny  Stevenson  put  her 
money  in  his  bank. 

So  life  went  on  for  the  mother  and  child  until  one 
eventful  day,  when  a  tall,  handsome  man  in  high 
boots  and  a  wide  hat  suddenly  appeared  at  the  door, 
and  crying  out,  "Is  this  my  little  girl.?"  caught  her 
up  in  his  arms.  As  one  risen  from  the  dead,  the  hus- 
band and  father  had  returned,  and,  to  the  child's 
amazement,  they  immediately  moved  into  what 
seemed  to  her  a  very  fine  house,  and  she  had  a  wax 
doll  for  Christmas. 

For  a  few  succeeding  years  happiness  seemed  to 
have  returned  to  dwell  with  the  little  family.  Os- 
bourne  soon  made  his  way  in  the  busy  city  and  all 
went  well.     They  lived  in  San  Francisco  for  several 


36       LIFE  OF  MRS.  R.   L.   STEVENSON 

years.  There  a  son  was  born  to  them,  and  they 
named  him  Lloyd,  after  their  good  friend,  John  Lloyd, 
now  a  successful  lawyer. 

Those  peaceful  days  were  brought  to  an  end  when 
Mrs.  Osbourne  discovered  that  her  husband  had 
again  betrayed  her,  and  she  returned  to  her  father's 
house  in  Indiana.  After  nearly  a  year  she  yielded 
to  entreaties  and  promises  of  reform,  and  again  jour- 
neyed to  California,  taking  Cora  Van  de  Grift,  one 
of  her  younger  sisters,  with  her. 

A  little  while  after  their  return  to  San  Francisco,  in 
1869,  Osbourne  bought  a  house  and  lot  for  his  family 
in  East  Oakland,  then  known  as  Brooklyn,  at  the 
corner  of  Eleventh  Avenue  and  East  18th  Street. 
Settled  under  their  own  roof-tree  in  the  golden  land 
of  California,  the  family  for  a  time  were  measurably 
happy.  Mrs.  Osbourne,  who  is  described  as  being 
then  "a  young  and  slender  woman,  wearing  her  hair 
in  two  long  braids  down  her  back,"  was  evidently 
making  a  strong  effort  to  forget  past  differences  and 
to  make  home  a  pleasant  place  for  her  children. 
Though  she  cared  little  for  society  in  the  general 
sense  of  the  word,  yet  she  contrived  to  gather  about 
her  in  East  Oakland  a  little  intimate  circle  of  clever, 
talented,  and  agreeable  people.  Among  them  were 
Judge  Timothy  Rearden,  a  well-known  attorney  and 
litterateur  of  San  Francisco;  Virgil  Williams,  director 
of  the  San  Francisco  School  of  Design,  and  his  wife; 
Yelland,  Bush,  and  other  distinguished  artists;  the 
musician  Oscar  Weil,  and  many  more  whose  names 
do  not  now  come  to  mind. 

She  built  a  studio  where  she  painted,  had  a  dark 


ON  THE  PACIFIC  SLOPE  37 

room  where  she  took  photographs — and  photography 
in  those  days  of  "wet  plates"  was  a  mysterious  and 
unheard-of  accomplishment  for  an  amateur;  then 
there  was  a  rifle-range  where  she  set  up  a  target,  and, 
occasionally,  when  it  was  the  cook's  day  out,  she 
would  make  wonderful  dishes,  while  odd  moments 
were  filled  in  at  a  sewing-machine  making  pretty 
clothes.  By  this  time  she  had  become  a  famous  cook, 
and  often  prepared  dinners  fit  to  set  before  a  king. 
She  little  thought  then  that  some  day  she  would 
break  bread  with  real  kings,  even  though  they  were 
but  Polynesian  monarchs. 

Of  all  her  activities  that  from  which  she  drew  the 
purest  joy  was  her  gardening,  for  in  this  fortunate 
place,  where  sun  and  soil  and  balmy  air  all  conspire 
to  produce  a  paradise  for  flowers,  "her  Dutch  blood 
began  to  come  out,"  as  she  said,  and  she  threw  herself 
with  ardour  into  the  business  of  digging  and  pruning 
and  planting.  The  little  cottage  was  soon  curtained 
with  vines,  and  the  whole  place  glowed  with  the 
many-coloured  hues  of  gorgeous  roses.  There,  too, 
the  tawny  golden  bells  of  the  tiger  lily,  her  own  par- 
ticular flower,  hung  from  their  tall  stalks.  This  was 
the  first  of  the  many  wonderful  gardens  that  were 
made  to  bloom  under  her  skilful  tending  in  various 
parts  of  the  world. 

The  charming  domestic  picture  of  her  life  in  this 
period  can  be  given  in  no  better  way  than  by  quoting 
the  words  of  her  daughter: 

"At  that  time  our  fashionable  neighbors  gave  *  par- 
ties' for  their  children.  One  night  a  fire  broke  out 
in  a  house  where  I  had  gone  to  a  party.     My  mother 


38       LIFE  OF  MRS.   R.   L.  STEVENSON 

was  at  home,  sitting  at  her  work,  when  she  suddenly 
cried  'Something  is  the  matter  with  Bel !'  and  rush- 
ing out,  ran  across  ploughed  fields,  her  slippers  falling 
off,  leaving  her  to  run  in  stockings  all  the  way.  It 
was  not  until  she  was  half-way  there  that  she  saw 
the  smoke  and  realized  the  meaning  of  her  intuition. 
When  she  found  that  I  was  all  right  and  had  been 
sent  home  she  fainted  and  had  to  be  carried  home 
herself.  She  made  my  clothes  herself,  and  I  can 
remember  to  this  day  how  pretty  they  were.  I  was 
very  dark  and  of  course  ashamed  of  it,  but  she  told 
me  it  was  very  nice  to  be  different  from  other  people, 
and  dressed  me  in  crisp  yellow  linen  or  pale  blue, 
which  made  me  look  still  darker,  on  the  principle  that 
Sarah  Bernhardt  followed  in  exaggerating  her  thin- 
ness when  it  was  the  fashion  to  have  a  rounded  form. 
My  mother  told  me  to  consider  my  dark  skin  a 
beauty,  for  she  believed  that  if  children  had  a  good 
opinion  of  themselves  they  would  never  be  self- 
conscious. 

"All  the  other  girls  in  my  school  had  given  parties 
and  I  begged  to  be  allowed  to  give  one  too.  Our  lit- 
tle house  was  not  very  suitable  for  the  purpose,  but 
my  mother  put  her  wits  to  work.  She  fitted  up  the 
stable  with  a  stage  and  seats,  and  persuaded  a  neigh- 
bor who  played  the  cornet  to  act  as  *band.*  Then 
she  taught  a  small  group  of  us  to  act  'Villikens  and 
his  Dinah,'  which  she  read  aloud  behind  the  scenes, 
and  *  Bluebeard,'  made  into  a  little  play.  My  pater- 
nal grandmother,  a  straight-backed,  severe  looking 
old  lady,  was  then  visiting  us.  How  my  mother 
managed  it  I  don't  know,  but  Grandma,  who  abhorred 


ON  THE  PACIFIC  SLOPE  39 

theatricals,  was  soon  reading  'Villikens*  for  us  to 
practice,  and  she  even  consented  to  appear  as  one  of 
Bluebeard's  departed  wives.  A  sheet  was  hung  up 
to  represent  a  wall;  the  wives  stood  behind  it  and 
put  their  heads  through  holes  that  had  been  cut  for 
the  purpose;  their  hair  was  pulled  up  and  tacked  to 
imaginary  nails,  and  very  realistic  pieces  of  red  flannel 
arranged  to  represent  gore.  My  grandmother  was  a 
truly  awful  sight  when  my  mother  had  painted  her 
face  and  made  her  up  for  the  show.  The  party  was 
a  great  success,  and  only  the  other  day  I  met  a  woman 
who  had  been  one  of  the  guests  and  she  still  remem- 
bered it  as  one  of  the  striking  events  of  her  childhood. 
"My  mother  influenced  me  in  those  days  in  many 
ways  that  I  shall  never  forget,  especially  in  her 
hatred  of  anything  that  savored  of  snobbery.  When 
I  gave  the  party  I  placed  the  invitations  in  little  pink 
envelopes  and  put  them  on  the  desks  of  my  school- 
mates. A  neighbor's  son  who  was  poor  and  had  to 
carry  newspapers  and  peddle  milk,  sat  next  to  me  in 
school.  Children  are  snobs  by  nature,  and  this  boy 
was  never  asked  to  any  of  our  parties.  I  consulted 
my  mother  as  to  what  I  should  do  about  Danny,  for 
he  had  been  nice  to  me  and  I  hated  to  leave  him  out. 
*0f  course  you  must  invite  him,'  she  said.  'But 
none  of  the  other  girls  invited  him  to  their  parties,* 
said  I.  'There  is  nothing  against  him,  is  there, 
except  being  poor.f*'  'Nothing  at  all,'  I  replied,  and 
so  I  was  directed  to  include  him  in  the  invitations.  I 
shall  never  forget  poor  slighted  Danny's  radiant  face 
when  he  saw  there  was  a  note  for  him.  He  came  to 
the  party  dressed  in  new  clothes  from  head  to  foot. 


40       LIFE  OF  MRS.  R.   L.   STEVENSON 

and  made  such  a  success  that  after  that  he  was  always 
asked  in  'our  set.' 

*'My  mother  also  taught  me  to  be  considerate  of 
other  people's  feelings.  My  teacher  once  kept  me  in 
for  slamming  a  door;  I  told  my  mother  about  it  and 
admitted  that  I  had  slammed  it  purposely  because 
my  teacher  was  so  cross.  In  the  guise  of  an  enter- 
taining story,  she  told  me  how  the  teacher,  a  pretty 
young  woman  named  Miss  INIiller,  had  come  to  teach 
a  big  class,  a  stranger,  alone,  and  that  perhaps  she 
had  a  headache  from  having  cried  the  night  before 
from  homesickness.  In  this  way  she  harrowed  my 
feelings  to  such  an  extent  that  I  went  to  Miss  Miller 
of  my  own  accord  and  begged  her  pardon,  and  the 
poor  girl  wept  and  loved  me,  and  thenceforth  made 
life  miserable  for  me  among  my  schoolmates  by  acts 
of  'favoritism.'" 

In  the  little  rose-covered  cottage  in  Oakland  a 
second  son,  Hervey,  was  born  to  the  Osbournes.  He 
was  an  extraordinarily  beautiful  child,  with  the  rare 
combination  of  large  dark  eyes  and  yellow  curls,  but 
there  was  an  ethereal  look  about  him  that  boded  no 
long  stay  on  this  earthly  sphere. 

It  was  perhaps  partly  to  fill  a  great  void  that  she 
began  to  feel  in  her  life  that  Mrs.  Osbourne  took  up 
the  study  of  art  in  t¥e  Schctol  of  Design  conducted  by 
Virgil  Williams  in  San  Francisco.  Mother  and  daugh- 
ter studied  there  side  by  side.  While  there  Mrs. 
Osbourne  won  the  prize,  a  silver  medal,  for  the  best 
drawing.  She  seemed  not  to  value  it  at  the  time, 
but  after  her  death  her  daughter  found  it  in  a  little 
box  laid  away  in  her  jewel-case. 


ON  THE  PACIFIC  SLOPE  41 

When  the  little  yellow-haired  boy  was  about  four 
years  old,  the  cloud  which  had  menaced  the  happi- 
ness of  the  family  for  so  long  again  descended  upon 
them.  For  years  Mrs.  Osbourne  had  made  earnest 
and  conscientious  efforts  to  avoid  the  disruption  of 
her  marital  ties,  plighted  with  such  high  hopes  in  the 
springtime  of  her  girlhood,  but  her  husband's  infideli- 
ties had  now  become  so  open  and  flagrant  that  the 
situation  was  no  longer  bearable.  Divorce  was  at 
that  time  a  far  more  serious  step  than  it  is  now,  and, 
for  the  sake  of  her  family,  she  hesitated  long  before 
taking  it,  but  there  is  no  doubt  that  she  was  deeply 
wounded  and  humiliated  by  this  painful  episode  in 
her  life,  and,  in  1875,  partly  to  remove  herself  as  far 
as  possible  from  distressing  associations,  partly  to 
give  her  daughter  the  advantage  of  instruction  in 
foreign  schools  of  art,  she  took  her  three  children  and 
set  out  for  Europe.  When  she  left  California  for 
this  journey  it  is  no  exaggeration  to  say  that  every 
bond  of  affection  that  held  her  to  Samuel  Osbourne 
had  been  broken. 


i'^rom  the  HoUywood  ci%     > 

.HARVEY  TAY" 


AUTHORS'  REPR£S-J 

1822  N,:- 


CHAPTER  IV 
FRANCE,  AND  THE  MEETING  ATGREZ 

When  they  arrived  on  the  other  side,  the  Osbournes 
went  directly  to  Antwerp,  having  decided  to  make  a 
trial  of  that  place  first  for  their  art  studies.  They 
landed  at  night  in  that  most  picturesque  old  city  and 
took  quarters  at  the  Hotel  du  Bien-^tre,  a  quaint 
little  old  bourgeois  inn  where  you  walked  in  through 
the  kitchen — full  of  copper  pots  and  pans.  It  was 
in  the  days  before  "improvements" — broad  avenues, 
street-cars,  and  the  like — had  robbed  the  old  town  of 
much  of  its  distinctive  charm,  when  at  the  corners 
of  the  narrow,  stone-paved  streets  shrines  of  the 
Virgin  and  Child  might  still  be  seen.  The  passing 
crowds — peasant  women  in  elaborate  lace  caps  and 
long  cloaks,  groups  of  soldiers,  milk  carts  drawn  by 
dogs — all  were  intensely  interesting  to  the  newcomers 
from  America,  for  whom  this  was  the  first  foreign 
experience.  The  evening  of  their  arrival  tiiey  hung 
fascinated  from  their  windows,  listening  to  the  glori- 
ous chimes  from  the  cathedral  near  by,  and  watching 
the  changing  spectacle  below.  There  were  little 
tables  in  the  street  where  soldiers  sat  drinking,  while 
maids  in  huge  caps  filled  their  flagons.  Isobel  re- 
marked: "It  is  like  a  scene  in  an  opera;  all  we  need 
is  music."  At  that  moment  a  band  at  the  corner 
struck  up  "La  Fille  de  Madame  Angot,"  and  the 
illusion  was  complete. 

42 


THE  MEETING  AT  GREZ  43 

The  Hotel  du  Bien-etre  was  kept  by  the  Ger- 
hardts,  a  delightful  family  of  father,  mother,  and 
eleven  children.  It  was  a  happy  time  in  Antwerp 
for  the  Osbourne  children,  for  this  large  family  of 
young  people  provided  them  with  pleasant  com- 
panionship. 

But  if  the  Osbourne  children  had  a  happy  time  in 
Antwerp,  it  was  far  otherwise  with  their  mother,  for 
she  was  alone  with  her  family  in  a  foreign  land  and 
had  little  money,  and  the  responsibility  weighed 
heavily  upon  her,  her  anxiety  being  further  increased 
by  signs  of  ill-health  in  her  youngest  child,  Hervey. 
In  this  state  of  mind  she  was  deeply  touched  by  the 
warm-hearted  kindness  of  the  Gerhardts,  which  they 
exhibited  in  a  thousand  ways.  One  day  the  news- 
papers published  an  account  of  the  failure  of  a  bank 
in  San  Francisco,  and,  knowing  that  his  guests  came 
from  that  city,  Papa  Gerhardt  was  troubled  lest  they 
might  suflFer  some  pecuniary  distress  from  the  failure. 
Out  of  the  fulness  of  his  good  heart  he  said  to  Mrs. 
Osbourne:  "Do  not  be  anxious;  it  does  not  matter  if 
you  have  lost  your  money;  you  can  stay  with  Papa 
Gerhardt."  Fortunately,  the  bank  failure  did  not 
affect  her  in  any  way,  but  the  generosity  of  these 
good  people  in  her  lonely  situation  went  straight  to 
her  heart,  and  to  the  end  of  her  days  one  only  had  to 
be  a  Belgian  to  call  forth  her  help  and  sympathy. 

Finding  it  necessary  to  economize,  she  took  a 
house,  a  queer  little  stone  building  with  a  projecting 
roof,  containing  four  small  rooms,  one  on  top  of  the 
other.  The  rooms  were  so  tiny  that  when  the  big 
front  door  stood  ajar  it  opened  up  almost  all  the 


44       LIFE  OF  MRS.  R.  L.  STEVENSON 

little  apartment  dignified  by  the  name  of  "salon." 
The  entire  Gerhardt  family  took  a  hand  in  getting 
them  settled,  bringing  little  gifts — crocheted  mats, 
bouquets  of  artificial  flowers,  and  two  pictures, 
bright-coloured  chromos  of  "Morning"  and  "Night," 
representing  two  little  children,  awake  and  asleep. 
Mrs.  Osbourne  loyally  kept  these  pictures  for  years, 
hanging  them  upon  her  wall  in  tender  and  grateful 
memory  of  the  Gerhardts. 

After  three  months'  stay  in  Antwerp,  finding  it  to 
be  a  difficult  place  for  women  to  study  art,  and  hav- 
ing been  told  of  a  good  and  cheap  school  in  Paris, 
she  decided  to  go  there.  ^Tien  the}'  parted,  with 
many  tears,  from  their  dear  Belgian  friends,  Mrs. 
Osbourne,  with  a  swelling  heart,  tried  to  thank  Papa 
Gerhardt  for  his  kindness  to  her  and  her  children, 
but  he  said  he  had  a  large  family  who  would  some 
day  have  to  go  out  into  the  world,  and  he  had  treated 
the  Americans  as  he  hoped  his  own  would  be  treated. 

From  Antwerp  they  went  to  Paris,  and  Fanny  and 
her  daughter  entered  the  Julien  School  of  Art  on  the 
Passage  des  Panorama,  where  they  spent  a  very  busy 
time  working  at  their  drawings  under  the  instruction 
of  Monsieur  Tony  Fleury.  The  older  of  the  two 
boys,  Lloyd,  was  placed  in  a  French  school,  and  he 
still  remembers  that  in  any  quarrel  with  the  boys  he 
was  called  "Prussian"  as  a  dire  insult.  He  did  not 
know  what  it  meant,  but  nevertheless  resented  it 
promptly. 

The  family  lived  very  plainly,  their  meals  often 
consisting  of  smoked  herring  and  brown  bread; 
yet  these   straitened  circumstances   did  not  prevent 


THE  MEETING  AT  GREZ  45 

Mrs.  Osbourne  from  taking  pity  on  poor  and  home- 
sick young  students,  fellow  countrymen,  whom  she 
met  at  the  school,  and,  when  funds  allowed,  she  in- 
vited them  to  eat  Dutch-American  dishes  prepared 
by  her  own  hands. 

During  these  Paris  days  a  heavy  sorrow  fell  upon 
the  family.  The  beautiful  golden-haired  boy,  Hervey, 
then  about  five  years  old,  fell  ill,  and  after  lingering 
for  some  time,  passed  away,  and  was  buried  in  an  ex- 
ile's grave  at  St.  Germain.  Though  the  mother  bore 
even  this  heart-crushing  blow  with  outward  fortitude, 
the  memory  of  it  dwelt  always  in  an  inner  chamber 
of  her  heart.  In  a  letter  of  sympathy  written  by  her 
years  afterwards  to  the  Graham  Balfours,*  on  hearing 
of  the  death  of  one  of  their  children,  she  says:  "My 
Hervey  would  have  been  a  man  of  forty  now  had  he 
lived,  and  yet  I  am  grieving  and  longing  for  my  little 
child  as  though  he  had  just  gone.  Time  doesn't 
always  heal  wounds  as  we  are  told  it  does." 

After  this  sad  event  the  bereaved  mother  was  so 
listless  and  broken  in  health  that  the  doctor  advised 
a  change  to  some  quiet  country  place,  where  she  could 
get  the  benefit  of  outdoor  life  and  better  air  than  in 
the  stuffy  little  Paris  apartment.  A  casual  acquain- 
tance, Mr.  Pardessus,  an  American  sculptor  whom 
they  had  met  at  the  art  school,  told  them  about 
Grez,  a  little  village  in  Fontainebleau  Forest  on  the 
River  Loing,  where  there  was  a  ruined  castle,  a  pic- 
turesque old  inn,  and  a  lovely  garden  on  the  river- 
bank.     Above  all,   it   was  modest  in  price  and  so 

*  Now  Sir  Graham  and  Lady  Balfour.  Sir  Graham  is  a  cousin  of 
Robert  Louis  Stevenaoo,  and  his  biographer. 


46       LIFE  OF  MRS.  R.  L.  STEVENSON 

retired  that  it  was  almost  unknown  to  ordinary  trav- 
ellers. This  alluring  description  was  not  to  be  re- 
sisted, and  Mrs.  Osbourne,  with  her  little  family, 
now  sadly  bereaved,  left  for  the  place  which  was  to 
play  so  momentous  a  part  in  her  future. 

When  they  reached  Grez  they  found  there  only 
one  visitor — Mr.  Walter  Palmer,  then  a  young  stu- 
dent, who  was  painting  in  the  garden.  It  was  a 
quiet,  restful  place,  and  Mrs.  Osbourne  began  to 
recover  the  tone  of  her  health  and  spirits  in  its  peace- 
ful atmosphere. 

Previous  to  this  time  women  artists  had  been  prac- 
tically unknown  in  the  colonies  about  Fontainebleau, 
and  the  men  who  haunted  these  places  were  disposed 
to  resent  the  coming  of  any  of  the  other  sex.  The 
news  that  an  American  lady  and  her  two  children  had 
arrived  at  Grez  spread  consternation  among  them, 
and  they  sent  a  scout,  Mr.  R.  A.  M.  Stevenson,* 
ahead  to  look  over  the  situation  and  report.  The 
choice  of  scout  was  scarcely  a  wise  one,  for  "Bob'* 
Stevenson,  as  he  was  known  to  his  friends,  instantly 
fell  a  victim  to  the  attractions  of  the  strangers — 
who,  by  the  way,  were  utterly  unconscious  that  they 
were  regarded  as  intruders — and  so  he  stayed  on 
from  day  to  day.  After  waiting  some  time  for  the 
return  of  the  faithless  emissary,  another,  Sir  Walter 
Simpson,  was  sent,  but  he,  too,  failed  to  return. 
Then  Robert  Louis  Stevenson  set  out  to  look  into 
the  mystery.  His  coming  had  been  led  up  to  hke  a 
stage  entrance,  for  first  his  cousin  had  told  wonderful 
stories  of  adventures  in  which  Louis  was  always  the 

*  Robert  Alan  Mowbray  Stevenson,  cousin  of  Robert  Louis. 


1 


THE   MEETING   AT   GREZ  47 

hero — what  Louis  did,  what  Louis  said — until  the 
two  Americans,  mother  and  daughter,  began  to  get 
interested  in  this  fascinating  person;  and  then  came 
Sir  Walter,  with  more  stories  of  Louis — stories  that 
are  now  well  known  through  An  Inland  Voyage. 

One  evening  in  the  summer  of  1876  the  little  party 
of  guests  at  the  old  inn  sat  at  dinner  about  the  long 
table  in  the  centre  of  the  salle-a-manger  with  the 
painted  panels — handiwork  of  artists  who  had  stopped 
there  at  various  times.  It  was  a  soft,  sweet  evening, 
and  the  doors  and  windows  were  open;  dusk  drew 
near,  and  the  lamps  had  just  been  lit.  Suddenly  a 
young  man  approached  from  the  outside.  It  was 
Robert  Louis  Stevenson,  who  afterwards  admitted 
that  he  had  fallen  in  love  with  his  wife  at  first  sight 
when  he  saw  her  in  the  lamplight  through  the  open 
window. 

The  autumn  months  passed  swiftly  by  after  this 
meeting  in  an  ideal  existence  of  work  and  play. 
Mrs.  Osbourne  worked  industriously  at  her  painting, 
and  as  she  sat  at  her  easel  the  acquaintance  be- 
tween her  and  the  young  Scotchman  rapidly  flowered 
into  a  full  and  sympathetic  understanding.  Every- 
thing about  this  American  family,  speaking  as  it  did 
of  a  land  of  new  and  strange  customs  and  habits  of 
thought,  appealed  strongly  to  the  ardent  young  man. 
He  was  a  devoted  admirer  of  Walt  Wliitman,  and 
thought  he  knew  America.  The  daughter,  Isobel, 
described  by  one  of  the  members  of  the  colony* 
at  Grez  as  "a  bewitching  young  girl  of  seventeen, 
with  eyes  so  large  as  to  be  out  of  drawing,"  amazed 

*  Mr.  Birge  Harriaon,  in  the  Century  Magazine,  December,  1916. 


48       LIFE  OF  MRS.   R.  L.   STEVENSON 

and  delighted  him  by  the  piquancy  of  the  contrast 
between  her  and  the  young  women  he  had  previ- 
ously known.  In  a  girlish  description  given  in  one 
of  her  letters  home,  written  at  the  time,  she  says: 

"There  is  a  young  Scotchman  here,  a  Mr.  Steven- 
son, who  looks  at  me  as  though  I  were  a  natural 
curiosity.  He  never  saw  a  real  American  girl  before, 
and  he  says  I  act  and  talk  as  though  I  came  out  of  a 
book — I  mean  an  American  book.  He  says  that 
when  he  first  met  Bloomer*  he  came  up  to  him  and 
said  in  his  western  way:  'These  parts  don't  seem 
much  settled,  hey?'  He  laughed  for  an  hour  at  the 
idea  of  such  an  old  place  not  being  much  settled. 
He  is  such  a  nice  looking  ugly  man,  and  I  would 
rather  listen  to  him  talk  than  read  the  most  interest- 
ing book  I  ever  saw.  We  sit  in  the  little  green  arbor 
after  dinner  drinking  coffee  and  talking  till  late  at 
night.  Mama  is  ever  so  much  better  and  is  getting 
prettier  every  day." 

Again  she  writes: 

"Yesterday  I  canoed  to  Nemours  in  Louis  Steven- 
son's Rob  Roy.  We  generally  congregate  down  in 
the  garden  by  the  big  tree  after  dinner.  Mama 
swings  in  the  hammock,  looking  as  pretty  as  possi- 
ble, and  we  all  form  a  group  around  her  on  the  grass, 
Louis  and  Bob  Stevenson  babbling  about  boats,  while 
Simpson,  seated  near  by,  fans  himself  with  a  large 
white  fan." 

The  little  party  in  the  old  inn,  "entirely  surrounded 
by  peasants,"  as  Bob  Stevenson  said,  devised  all 
sorts  of  sports,  for  which  the  river  afforded  many 

*  An  American  artist. 


Fanny  Osbourne  at  about  the  time  of  her  first  meeting  with 
Robert  Louis  Stevenson 


THE  MEETING  AT  GREZ  49 

opportunities.  There  was  a  huge  old  boat,  a  double 
canoe,  lying  at  the  water's  edge;  this  they  put  on 
rollers,  and  after  the  entire  party  had  climbed  into  it, 
persuaded  the  passing  peasants  to  come  and  push  it 
off  the  bank,  like  a  sort  of  "shoot  the  chutes."  An- 
other game  was  to  divide  the  canoes  into  bands,  each 
under  a  captain,  and  engage  in  a  contest,  each  side 
trying  to  tip  over  the  enemy  canoes.  In  all  this 
hilarious  fun  Louis  Stevenson  was  the  leader. 

In  the  old  hall  they  had  great  times,  with  dances, 
now  and  then  a  performance  by  strolling  players,  and 
once  a  masquerade  given  by  the  guests  of  the  inn 
themselves,  in  which  they  dressed  as  gods  and  god- 
desses in  sheets  and  wreaths.  Once  when  a  couple 
of  wandering  singers  arrived  after  a  disappointing 
season,  the  artists  contributed  a  purse  and  invited 
them  to  spend  a  week  and  rest.  These  people  told 
Stevenson  the  story  he  made  into  Providence  and  the 
Guitar,  and  the  money  which  he  received  for  it  he 
sent  to  them  afterwards  to  help  pay  for  the  educa- 
tion of  their  little  girl  in  Paris. 

But  of  all  that  went  on  at  Grez  the  talks  are  re- 
membered as  the  best,  for,  notwithstanding  their 
merry  fooling  in  their  idle  hours,  there  were  brilliant 
minds  among  the  company,  and  the  conversation 
sparkled  with  rare  conceits. 

Three  summers  the  Osbournes  returned  to  spend 
at  Grez,  lingering  on  the  last  time  until  the  snow 
came.  A  short  visit  was  made  to  Barbizon,  too,  and 
once  when  there  the  whole  party  had  their  silhou- 
ettes drawn  on  the  walls  of  the  dining-room.  This 
was  done  by  placing  a  lamp  so  that  it  threw  a  shadow 


50       LIFE  OF  MRS.  R.   L.  STEVENSON 

of  the  face  in  profile  on  the  wall,  then  outlining  the 
shadow  and  filling  it  in  with  black.  Louis  Stevenson 
wrote  verses  to  them  all.  The  place  was  repainted 
the  next  spring,  which  was  to  be  regretted,  for  the 
walls  were  completely  covered  with  the  most  inter- 
esting silhouettes  and  drawings  by  painters  who  later 
became  famous,  to  say  nothing  of  the  verses  made 
by  Stevenson,  which  would  now  have  been  a  priceless 
memorial  of  those  youthful  days. 

Among  the  joyous  coterie  was  the  American 
painter  Will  H.  Low,  who  writes  thus  of  Fanny  Os- 
bourne  in  his  Chronicle  of  Friendships: 

"One  evening  at  Grez  we  saw  two  new  faces, 
mother  and  daughter,  though  in  appearance  more 
like  sisters;  the  elder,  slight,  with  delicately  moulded 
features  and  vivid  eyes  gleaming  from  under  a  mass 
of  dark  hair;  the  younger  of  more  robust  type,  in  the 
first  precocious  bloom  of  womanhood." 

Another  of  the  company,  Mr.  Birge  Harrison, 
writing  in  the  Century  Magazine  of  December,  1916, 
expresses  his  mature  judgment  of  her  as  he  knew 
her  at  the  little  French  village: 

"Among  a  few  women  who  were  doing  serious 
work  at  this  place  was  the  lady,  '  Trusty,  dusky,  vivid, 
and  true,'  to  whom  Robert  Louis  Stevenson  inscribed 
the  most  beautiful  love  song  of  our  time.  Mrs.  Os- 
bourne  could  not  have  been  at  that  time  more  than 
thirty-five  years  of  age  —a  grave  and  remarkable  type 
of  womanhood,  with  eyes  of  a  depth  and  sombre 
beauty  that  I  have  never  seen  equalled — eyes,  never- 
theless, that  upon  occasion  could  sparkle  with  humor 
and  brim  over  with  laughter.     Yet  upon  the  whole 


Robert  Louis  Stevenson  in  the  French  days 


THE   IMEETING   AT   GREZ  51 

Mrs.  Osbourne  impressed  me  as  first  of  all  a  woman 
of  profound  character  and  serious  judgment,  who 
could,  if  occasion  called,  have  been  the  leader  in 
some  great  movement.  But  she  belonged  to  the 
quattrocento  rather  than  to  the  nineteenth  century. 
Had  she  been  born  a  Medici,  she  would  have  held 
rank  as  one  of  the  remarkable  women  of  all  time. 
That  she  was  a  woman  of  intellectual  attainments  is 
proved  by  the  fact  that  she  was  already  a  magazine 
writer  of  recognized  ability,  and  that  at  the  moment 
when  Stevenson  first  came  into  her  life  she  was  mak- 
ing a  living  for  herself  and  her  two  children  with  her 
pen.  But  this,  after  all,  is  a  more  or  less  ordinary 
accomplishment,  and  Mrs.  Osbourne  was  in  no  sense 
ordinary.  Indeed,  she  was  gifted  with  a  mysterious 
sort  of  over-intelligence,  which  is  almost  impossible 
to  describe,  but  which  impressed  itself  upon  every 
one  who  came  within  the  radius  of  her  influence. 
Napoleon  had  much  of  this;  likewise  his  arch  enemy, 
the  great  Duke  of  Wellington;  and  among  women, 
Catherine  of  Russia  and  perhaps  Elizabeth  of  Eng- 
land. She  was  therefore  both  physically  and  men- 
tally the  very  antithesis  of  the  gay,  hilarious,  open- 
minded  and  open-hearted  Stevenson,  and  for  that 
very  reason  perhaps  the  woman  in  all  the  world  best 
fitted  to  be  his  life  comrade  and  helpmate.  At  any 
rate  we  may  well  ask  ourselves  if  anywhere  else  he 
would  have  found  the  kind  of  understanding  and 
devotion  which  she  gave  him  from  the  day  of  their 
first  meeting  at  Grez  until  the  day  of  his  death  in 
far-away  Samoa;  if  anywhere  else  there  was  a  woman 
of  equal  attainments  who  would  willingly,  nay  gladly, 


52       LIFE  OF  MRS.  R.  L.  STEVENSON 

throw  aside  all  of  the  pleasures  and  comforts  of  civ- 
ilization to  live  among  savages,  and  the  still  rougher 
whites  of  the  South  Pacific,  in  order  that  her  husband 
might  have  just  a  little  more  oxygen  for  his  failing 
lungs,  a  little  more  chance  for  a  respite  and  an  exten- 
sion of  his  shortening  years?  Probably  no  one  ever 
better  deserved  than  she  the  noble  tribute  of  verse 
which  her  husband  gave  her,  and  from  which  I  have 
quoted  the  opening  line." 

In  1878  the  Osbournes  returned  to  America,  trav- 
elling by  way  of  Queenstown,  where,  for  the  sake  of 
stepping  on  Irish  soil,  they  went  ashore  for  a  few 
hours  and  took  a  ride  in  a  real  jaunting-car,  with  a 
driver  who  was  as  Irish  as  possible,  with  a  thick 
brogue,  a  hole  in  his  hat,  and  a  smiling,  good-hu- 
moured countenance. 

A  short  stop  was  made  in  Indiana  to  visit  the  old 
family  home  in  Hendricks  County,  now  saddened  by 
the  death  of  our  father,  and  then  Fanny  Osbourne 
once  more  turned  her  steps  towards  the  setting  sun. 
At  this  time  she  added  me,  her  youngest  sister,  to 
her  party,  and  I  remained  with  her  until  her  mar- 
riage to  Stevenson  and  their  departure  for  Scotland. 
She  was  then  in  the  full  flower  of  her  striking  and 
unusual  beauty,  and  so  youthful  in  appearance  that 
she,  her  daughter,  and  I  passed  everywhere  as  three 
sisters.  To  me,  reared  as  I  had  been  in  the  flat  coun- 
try of  central  Indiana,  where  mountains  and  the  sea 
were  wonders  known  only  through  books,  the  journey 
across  the  continent — with  its  glimpses  of  the  mighty 
snow-capped  crags  of  the  Rockies  outlined  against 
the  fiery  sunset  skies  of  that  region,  the  weird  castel- 


THE  MEETING  AT  GREZ  53 

lated  rocks  of  the  "Bad  Lands,"  the  colonies  of  funny 
little  prairie-dogs  peeping  out  of  their  burrows,  the 
blanket-wrapped  Indians  waiting  at  the  stations,  and 
finally  the  awesome  vision  of  the  stupendous  canyons 
and  precipices  of  the  Sierras,  was  like  some  strange, 
impossible  dream;  and  when  at  last  we  came  out  into 
the  warm  sun  and  flowery  brightness  of  California, 
straight  from  the  gloom  and  chill  of  an  Indiana  No- 
vember, it  was  as  though  the  gates  of  paradise  had 
suddenly  opened. 

Not  long  after  her  return  to  California,  finding  a 
reconciliation  with  her  husband  to  be  quite  out  of 
the  question,  Mrs.  Osbourne  decided  to  bring  suit  for 
divorce,  which  was  eventually  granted  without  oppo- 
sition. 

In  the  meantime,  being  much  run  down  in  health 
as  a  result  of  these  harassing  anxieties,  she  wished 
to  seek  rest  in  some  quiet  place  free  from  unpleasant 
associations.  This  she  found  in  the  charming  little 
coast  town  of  Monterey,  which  was  then  still  un- 
spoiled by  tourist  travel,  and,  taking  her  family  with 
her,  she  went  there  for  a  stay  of  several  months.  In 
the  soft  air  and  peaceful  atmosphere  of  this  place  her 
health  and  spirits  soon  revived.  There  she  found  an 
opportunity  to  indulge  her  skill  as  a  horsewoman, 
and  at  any  time  she  might  have  been  seen  galloping 
along  the  country  roads  on  her  little  mustang,  Clavel.* 
She  even  joined  a  party  of  friends  who  accompanied 
a  band  of  vaqueros'\  in  a  great  rodeoX  on  the  San  Fran- 
cisquito  ranch  near  Monterey.     We  rode  for  days 

*  A  Spanish  word,  pronounced  clahvel,  and  meaning  a  pink, 
t  Cowboys.  X  Cattle  round-up. 


54       LIFE  OF  MRS.   R.   L.   STEVENSON 

from  station  to  station,  tlirough  a  delightful  country, 
under  the  feathery,  scented  redwoods  and  beside 
clear  mountain-streams  in  which  the  trout  leaped. 
We  slept  in  barns  on  the  hay  or  on  the  far-f rom-downy 
rawhide  cots  in  the  ranch  shanties,  and  subsisted  on 
freshly  killed  beef  hastily  barbecued  over  the  camp- 
fire,  coming  back  to  Monterey  sunburned  to  a  fine 
mahogany. 


CHAPTER  V 

IN   CALIFORNIA   WITH   ROBERT  LOUIS 

STEVENSON 

As  the  months  passed,  Stevenson,  drawn  by  an 
irresistible  desire  to  see  the  one  who  had  become 
dearest  in  all  the  world  to  him,  and  having  heard 
that  she  was  soon  to  be  freed  from  the  bonds  that 
held  her  to  another,  decided  to  take  ship  for  America. 
After  the  long  ocean  voyage  and  the  fatiguing  jour- 
ney from  sea  to  sea,  which  he  has  himself  so  graphi- 
cally described,  he  went  straight  to  meet  the  family 
at  Monterey. 

In  tlie  year  1879  there  remained  one  spot  in  prac- 
tical America  where  the  Spirit  of  Romance  still  lin- 
gered, though  even  there  she  stood  a-tiptoe,  ready  to 
take  wing  into  the  mists  of  the  Pacific.  It  seems 
fitting  that  it  should  have  been  at  that  place  that  I 
first  knew  Robert  Louis  Stevenson.  Although  the 
passing  of  the  years  has  dimmed  the  memory  of  those 
days  to  a  certain  degree,  yet  here  and  there  a  high 
light  gleams  out  in  the  shadowy  haze  of  the  picture 
and  brings  back  the  impression  of  his  face  and  per- 
sonality and  of  the  surroundings  and  little  events  of 
our  daily  life  in  his  company  as  though  they  had 
happened  but  yesterday.  The  little  town  of  Mon- 
terey, being  out  of  the  beaten  track  of  travel,  and 
having  no  mines  or  large  agricultural  tracts  in  its 

SB 


56       LIFE  OF  JVIRS.  R.  L.   STEVENSON 

vicinity  to  stimulate  trade,  had  dreamed  away  the 
years  since  American  occupation,  and  still  retained 
much  of  the  flavour  of  the  pastoral  days  of  Spanish 
California.  It  is  true  that  at  the  cascarone*  balls — 
at  which  the  entire  population,  irrespective  of  age  or 
worldly  position,  dressed  in  silks  or  in  flannel  shirts, 
as  the  case  might  be,  still  gathered  almost  weekly 
in  truly  democratic  comradeship — the  egg-shells  were 
no  longer  filled  with  gold-dust,  as  sometimes  hap- 
pened in  the  prodigal  Spanish  days;  yet  time  was  still 
regarded  as  a  thing  of  so  little  value  that  no  one 
thought  of  abandoning  the  pleasures  of  the  dance 
until  broad  daylight.  Along  the  narrow,  crooked 
streets  of  the  little  town,  with  its  precarious  wooden 
sidewalks,  the  language  of  old  Castile,  spoken  with 
surprising  purity,  was  heard  more  often  than  English. 
In  fact,  as  Mr.  Stevenson  himself  says  in  his  essay  on 
The  Old  Pacific  Capital:  "It  was  difficult  to  get  along 
without  a  word  or  two  of  that  language  for  an  occa- 
sion." 

High  adobe  walls,  topped  with  tiles,  concealed 
pleasant  secluded  gardens,  from  which  the  heavy 
perfume  of  the  floribundia  and  other  semitropical 
flowers  poured  out  on  the  evening  air.  Behind  such 
a  wall  and  in  the  midst  of  such  a  garden  stood  the 
two-story  adobe  dwelling  of  the  Senorita  Maria 
Ygnacia  Bonifacio,  known  to  her  intimates  as  Dona 
Nachita.     In  the  "clean  empty  rooms"  of  this  house, 

*  These  entertainments  were  so  called  in  allusion  to  the  custom  of 
breaking  oascarones  (egg-shells),  previously  filled  with  finely  cut  coloured 
or  tinsel  paper,  upon  the  heads  of  the  dancers.  By  the  time  the  midnight 
hour  rolled  around,  every  head  glittered  with  the  confetti,  and  the  floor 
was  piled  several  inches  deep  with  it. 


IN  CALTFORNIA  57 

furnished  with  Spanish  abstemiousness  and  kept  in 
shining  whiteness,  *'  where  the  roar  of  the  water  dwelt 
as  in  a  shell  upon  the  chimney,"  we  had  our  tem- 
porary residence,  and  here  Louis  Stevenson  came  often 
to  visit  us  and  share  our  simple  meals,  each  of  which 
became  a  little  fete  in  the  thrill  of  his  presence  and 
conversation.  Something  he  had  in  him  that  made 
life  seem  a  more  exciting  thing,  better  worth  living, 
to  every  one  associated  with  him,  and  it  seemed  im- 
possible to  be  dull  or  bored  in  his  company.  It  is 
true  that  he  loved  to  talk,  and  one  of  his  friends 
complained  that  he  was  too  "deuced  explanatory," 
but  it  seemed  to  me  that  the  flood  of  talk  he  some- 
times poured  out  was  the  overflow  of  a  full  mind,  a 
mind  so  rich  in  ideas  that  he  could  well  afford  to 
bestow  some  of  it  upon  his  friends  without  hope  of 
return.  His  was  no  narrow  vein  to  be  jealously 
hoarded  for  use  in  his  writings,  but  his  diflBculty  lay 
rather  in  choosing  from  the  wealth  of  his  store.  He 
once  remarked  that  he  coidd  not  understand  a  man's 
having  to  struggle  to  "find  something  to  write  about," 
and  perhaps  it  is  true  that  one  who  has  to  do  that 
has  no  real  vocation  as  a  writer. 

When  he  came  to  us  at  Monterey  he  was  newly 
arrived  in  this  country,  and  seemed  to  be  in  a  rather 
peculiar  state  of  mind  concerning  it,  complaining 
that  it  was  too  much  like  England  to  have  the  piquancy 
of  a  foreign  land,  and  yet  not  enough  like  it  to  have 
the  restfulness  of  home,  therefore  it  left  him  with  a 
strange,  unsatisfied  feeling.  One  of  the  things  in  the 
new  land  that  pleased  him  much  was  its  food,  for  he 
believed  in  enjoying  the  good  things  of  this  life,  and 


58       LIFE  OF  MRS.  R.   L.   STE\^NSON 

he  was  like  a  second  Christopher  Columbus,  just  dis- 
covering green  corn  and  sweet  potatoes.  In  a  letter 
to  his  friend  Sidney  Colvin  he  says:  "In  America 
you  eat  better  than  anywhere  else;  fact.  The  food 
is  heavenly  !"  During  his  first  days  at  Monterey  he 
kept  singing  the  praises  of  certain  delectable  "little 
cakes,"  which  he  had  found  much  to  his  liking  in  the 
railroad  eating-houses  while  crossing  the  continent. 
These  were  a  great  mystery  to  us  until  one  day  Ah 
Sing,  the  Chinese  cook,  placed  upon  the  table  a  plate 
of  smoking-hot  baking-powder  biscuits.  Behold  the 
famous  "little  cakes"! 

The  unexpected  discovery  in  the  town  of  Jules 
Simoneau,  to  whom  he  refers  in  his  letters  as  "a 
most  pleasant  old  boy,  with  whom  I  discuss  the  uni- 
verse and  play  chess,"  a  man  of  varied  talents,  who 
was  able  to  furnish  him  with  an  excellent  dinner,  as 
well  as  the  intelligent  companionship  that  he  valued 
more  than  food,  was  a  great  satisfaction  to  him.  Often 
we  all  repaired  together  to  Simoneau's  little  restau- 
rant, where  we  were  served  meals  that  were  a  rare 
combination  of  French  and  Spanish  cookery,  for  our 
host's  wife,  Dona  Martina,  was  a  native  of  Mira- 
flores,  in  Lower  California,  and  was  skilled  in  the 
preparation  of  the  iamales*  and  came  con  ckile\  of 
the  Southwest.  It  has  always  seemed  to  me  that 
in  the  oft-told  story  of  the  friendship  between  Jules 
Simoneau   and   Robert   Louis   Stevenson   but   scant 

*  Tamales,  perhaps  the  most  famous  culinary  product  of  the  South- 
west, were  probably  of  Indian  origin.  Their  construction  is  too  com- 
plicated to  explain  here,  further  than  to  say  that  they  are  made  of  corn- 
meal  and  chopped  meat  rolled  in  corn-husks  and  boiled. 

t  Came  con  chile  (meat  with  chile)  is  what  its  name  indicates,  a  stew 
of  meat  and  red  peppers. 


IN  CALIFORNIA  59 

justice  has  been  done  to  that  uncommonly  fine  woman 
Dona  Martina,  who,  no  doubt,  had  her  part  in  caring 
for  the  writer  when  he  lay  so  ill  in  Monterey.  Per- 
haps more  often  than  not  it  was  her  kind  and  skilful 
hand  that  prepared  the  broth  and  smoothed  the 
pillow  for  Don  Roberto  Luis,  as  she  called  him;  and 
though  she  had  but  little  book  knowledge,  she  was, 
in  her  native  good  sense,  her  well-chosen  language, 
and  the  dignity  and  courtesy  of  her  manners,  what 
people  call  a  "born  lady."  Mrs.  Stevenson  was  pro- 
foundly grateful  to  Jules  Simoneau  for  his  early 
kindness  to  her  husband,  and  had  a  sincere  admira- 
tion for  his  wife  as  well.  When  he  fell  into  strait- 
ened circumstances  in  his  old  age,  she  went  to  his 
rescue  and  provided  him  with  a  comfortable  living 
during  his  last  years.  When  he  died  she  followed 
him  to  his  last  resting-place,  and  afterwards  erected 
a  suitable  monument  to  mark  it,  only  stipulating  that 
the  name  of  Dona  Martina  should  also  be  placed 
upon  it,  she  having  died  some  time  before  him. 

In  the  Senorita  Bonifacio's  garden,  where  we  spent 
much  of  our  time,  there  was  a  riot  of  flowers — rich 
yellow  masses  of  enormous  cloth-of-gold  roses,  delicate 
pink  old-fashioned  Castilian  roses,  which  the  Senorita 
carefully  gathered  each  year  to  make  rose-pillows, 
besides  fuchsias  as  large  as  young  trees,  and  a  thou- 
sand other  blooms  of  incredible  size  and  beauty. 
Loving  them  all,  their  little  Spanish  mistress  flitted 
about  among  them  like  a  bird,  alert,  active,  bright- 
eyed,  straight  as  an  arrow,  and  as  springy  of  step  as 
a  girl  of  sixteen,  although  even  then  she  was  past  her 
first  youth. 

As  to  flowers,  it  seemed  to  me  that  they  made  no 


60       LIFE  OF  MRS.  R.  L.   STEVENSON 

particular  appeal  to  Mr.  Stevenson  except  for  their 
scent,  in  which  he  was  very  like  the  rest  of  his  sex  the 
world  over.  He  cared  rather  for  nature's  larger 
effects — a  noble  cloud  in  the  sky,  the  thunder  of  the 
surf  on  the  beach,  or  the  fresh  resinous  smell  of  the 
pine  forest. 

To  this  house  he  came  often  of  an  afternoon  to 
read  the  results  of  his  morning's  work  to  the  assem- 
bled family.  While  we  sat  in  a  circle,  listening  in 
appreciative  silence,  he  nervously  paced  the  room, 
reading  aloud  in  his  full  sonorous  voice — a  voice  that 
always  seemed  remarkable  in  so  frail  a  man — his  face 
flushed  and  liis  manner  embarrassed,  for,  far  from 
being  overconfident  about  liis  work,  he  always  seemed 
to  feel  a  sort  of  shy  anxiety  lest  it  should  not  be  up 
to  the  mark.  He  invariably  gave  respectful  atten- 
tion and  careful  consideration  to  the  criticism  of  the 
humblest  of  his  hearers,  but  in  the  end  clung  with 
Scotch  pertinacity  to  his  o^n  opinion  if  he  was 
sure  of  its  justice.  In  this  way  we  heard  The  Pavilion 
on  the  Links,  which  he  wrote  at  Monterey,  and  read 
to  us  chapter  by  chapter  as  they  came  from  his  pen. 
While  there  he  also  began  another  story  which  was 
to  have  been  called  Arizona  Breckinridge,  or  A  Ven- 
detta in  the  West.  This  story,  with  its  rather  lurid 
title,  was  to  have  been  based  upon  some  of  his  im- 
pressions of  western  America,  but  his  heart  could  not 
have  been  in  it,  for  it  was  never  finished.  The  name 
of  Arizona  came  out  of  his  intense  delight  in  the 
"songful,  tuneful"  nomenclature  of  the  United  States, 
in  which  terms  he  refers  to  it  in  Across  the  Plains. 
The  name  Susquehanna  was  a  special  joy  to  him,  and 


IN  CALIFORNIA  61 

he  took  pleasure  in  rolling  it  on  his  tongue,  adding 
to  its  music  with  the  rich  tones  of  his  voice,  as  he 
repeated  it:  "Susquehanna !  Oh,  beautiful !"  While 
on  the  train  passing  through  Pennsylvania  he  wrote 
some  verses  in  a  letter  to  Sidney  Colvin  about  the 
beautiful  river  with  the  "tuneful"  name,  of  which 
one  stanza  runs  thus: 

"I  think,  I  hope,  I  dream  no  mcwe 
The  dreams  of  otherwdiere; 
The  cherished  thoughts  of  yore; 
I  have  been  changed  from  what  I  was  before; 
And  drunk  too  deep  perchance  the  lotus  of  the  air 
Beside  the  Susquehanna  and  along  the  Delaware." 

Again,  in  writing  the  poem  entitled  Ticonderoga^ 
it  was  the  name  that  first  drew  his  attention,  and 

"It  sang  in  his  sleeping  ears. 
It  hummed  in  his  waking  head; 
The  name — Ticonderoga." 

Some  story  that  we  told  him  about  a  man  who 
named  his  numerous  family  of  daughters  after  the 
States — Indiana,  Nebraska,  California,  etc. — tool  his 
fancy  and  suggested  the  name  of  Arizona  Breckin- 
ridge to  him. 

Out  of  the  mist  arise  memories  of  walks  along  the 
beach — the  long  beach  of  clean  white  sand  that 
stretches  unbroken  for  many  miles  around  the  great 
sweeping  curve  of  Monterey  Bay,  where  we  "watched 
the  tiny  sandy-pipers,  and  the  huge  Pacific  seas." 
Sometimes  we  walked  there  at  night,  when  the 
blood-red  harvest-moon  sprang  suddenly  like  a  great 


62       LIFE   OF   MRS.   R.   L.   STEVENSON 

ball  of  fire  above  the  rim  of  horizon  on  the  opposite 
side  of  the  circling  bay,  sending  a  glittering  track 
across  the  water  to  our  very  feet.  To  walk  with 
Stevenson  on  such  a  night,  and  watch  "the  waves 
come  in  slowly,  vast  and  green,  curve  their  trans- 
lucent necks  and  burst  with  a  surprising  uproar" — 
to  walk  with  him  on  such  a  night  and  listen  to  his 
inimitable  talk  is  the  sort  of  memory  that  cannot 
fade.  On  other  nights  when  the  waters  of  the  bay 
were  all  alight  with  the  glow  of  phosphorescence,  we 
walked  on  the  old  wooden  pier  and  marvelled  at  the 
billows  of  fire  sent  rolling  in  beneath  us  by  the  splash- 
ing porpoises. 

Perhaps  nothing  about  the  place  interested  him 
more  deeply  than  the  old  mission  of  San  Carlos 
Borromeo,  once  the  home  of  the  illustrious  Junipero 
Serra,  and  now  the  last  resting-place  of  his  earthly 
remains.  Within  its  ruined  walls  mass  was  cele- 
brated once  a  year  in  honour  of  its  patron,  Saint 
Charles  Borromeo,  and  after  the  religious  service 
was  over  the  people  joined  in  a  joyous  merienda* 
under  the  trees,  during  which  vast  quantities  of 
tamales,  enchiladas,^  and  other  distinctive  Spanish- 
American  viands  were  generously  distributed  to 
friend  and  stranger.  Catholic  and  Protestant.  ISIr. 
Stevenson  attended  one  of  these  celebrations,  and 
was  greatly  moved  by  the  sight  of  the  pitiful  remnant 
of  aged  Indians,  sole  survivors  of  Father  Serra's  once 
numerous  flock,  as  they  lifted  their  quavering  voices 

*  Merienda — noonday  luncheon. 

t  Enchiladas  are  a  sort  of  corn-meal  pancake  rolled  up  and  stuffed 
with  cheese  and  a  sauce  made  of  red  peppers. 


IN  CALIFORNIA  63 

in  the  mass.  He  expressed  much  surprise  at  the 
clarity  of  their  pronunciation  of  the  Latin,  and  in  his 
essay  on  The  Old  Pacific  Capital,  he  says:  "There 
you  may  hear  God  served  with  perhaps  more  touch- 
ing circumstances  than  in  any  other  temple  under 
Heaven.  .  .  .  These  Indians  have  the  Gregorian 
music  at  their  finger-ends,  and  pronounce  the  Latin 
so  correctly  that  I  could  follow  the  music  as  they 
sang."  Much  has  been  changed  since  then,  for  the 
church  has  been  "restored,"  and  the  little  band  of 
Indians  have  long  since  quavered  out  their  last  mass 
and  gone  to  meet  their  beloved  pastor,  the  saintly 
Serra. 

Those  were  dolce-far-nienie  days  at  Monterey, 
dreamy,  romantic  days,  spent  beneath  the  bluest 
sky,  beside  the  bluest  sea,  and  in  the  best  company 
on  earth,  and  all  glorified  by  the  rainbow  hues  of 
youth.  But,  as  Mr.  Stevenson  prophesied,  the  little 
town  was  "not  strong  enough  to  resist  the  influence 
of  the  flaunting  caravanserai  which  sprang  up  in  the 
desert  by  the  railway,"  and  after  the  coming  of  the 
fashionable  hotel  the  commercial  spirit  came  to  life 
in  the  place.  The  tile-topped  walls,  hiding  their 
sweet  secluded  gardens,  gave  way  to  the  new  frame 
or  brick  buildings,  the  narrow,  crooked  streets  were 
straightened  and  graded,  the  breakneck  sidewalks 
replaced  by  neat  cement  pavements,  and,  at  last, 
the  Spirit  of  Romance  spread  her  wings  and  vanished 
into  the  mists  of  the  Pacific. 

The  setting  of  the  picture  is  now  changed  to  Oak- 
land, across  the  bay  from  San  Francisco,  where  we 
lived  for  some  months  in  the  little  house  which  Mr. 


64       LIFE   OF   MRS.   R.   L.   STEVENSON 

Stevenson  himself  describes  in  the  dedication  to 
Prince  Otto  as  "far  gone  in  the  respectable  stages  of 
antiquity,  and  which  seemed  indissoluble  from  the 
green  garden  in  which  it  stood,  and  that  yet  was  a 
sea-traveller  in  its  younger  days,  and  had  come 
round  the  Horn  piecemeal  in  the  belly  of  a  ship,  and 
might  have  heard  the  seamen  stamping  and  shouting 
and  the  note  of  the  boatswain's  whistle."  This  cot- 
tage was  of  the  variety  known  as  "cloth  and  paper,'* 
a  flimsy  construction  permitted  by  the  kindly  climate 
of  California,  and  on  winter  nights,  when  the  wind 
blew  in  strongly  from  the  sea,  its  sides  puffed  in  and 
out,  greatly  to  the  amusement  of  the  "Scot,"  accus- 
tomed as  he  was  to  the  solid  buildings  of  his  native 
land.  It  was,  as  he  says,  "embowered  in  creepers," 
for  over  its  front  a  cloth-of-gold  rose  spread  its  cling- 
ing arms,  and  over  one  side  a  Banksia  flung  a  curtain 
of  green  and  yellow. 

It  was  during  his  stay  in  this  house  that  we  first 
reahzed  the  serious  nature  of  his  illness,  and  yet  there 
was  none  of  the  depressing  atmosphere  of  sickness, 
for  he  refused  to  be  the  regulation  sick  man.  Every 
day  he  worked  for  a  few  hours  at  least,  while  I  acted 
as  amanuensis  in  order  to  save  him  the  phj'sical  labour 
of  writing.  In  this  way  the  first  rough  draught  of 
Prince  Otto  was  written,  and  here,  too,  he  tried  his 
hand  at  poetry,  producing  some  of  the  poems  that 
afterwards  appeared  in  the  collection  called  Under- 
woods, although  it  is  certain  that  he  never  believed 
himself  to  be  possessed  of  the  true  poetic  fire.  Brave 
as  his  spirit  was,  yet  he  had  his  dark  moments  when 
the  dread  of  premature  death  weighed  upon  him. 


IN   CALIFORNIA  65 

It  was  probably  in  such  a  mood  that  he  wrote  the 
poem  called  Not  Yet,  My  Soul,  an  appeal  to  fate  in 
which  he  expressed  his  rebellion  against  an  untimely 
end. 

"Not  yet,  my  soul,  these  friendly  fields  desert. 

The  ship  rides  trimmed,  and  from  the  eternal  shore 
Thou  hearest  airy  voices;  but  not  yet 
Depart,  my  soul,  not  yet  awhile  depart. 

Leave  not,  my  soul,  the  unfoughten  field,  nor  leave 
Thy  debts  dishonored,  nor  thy  place  desert 
Without  due  service  rendered.     For  thy  life. 
Up,  spirit,  and  defend  that  fort  of  clay. 
Thy  body,  now  beleaguered." 

While  engaged  in  dictating,  he  had  a  habit  of 
walking  up  and  down  the  room,  his  pace  growing 
faster  and  faster  as  his  enthusiasm  rose.  We  feared 
that  this  was  not  very  good  for  him,  so  we  quietly 
devised  a  scheme  to  prevent  it,  without  his  knowledge, 
by  hemming  him  in  with  tables  and  chairs,  so  that 
each  time  he  sprang  up  to  walk  he  sank  back  dis- 
couraged at  sight  of  the  obstructions.  When  I  re- 
call the  sleepless  care  with  which  Mrs.  Stevenson 
watched  over  him  at  that  critical  point  in  his  life,  it 
seems  to  me  that  it  is  not  too  much  to  say  that  the 
world  owes  it  to  her  that  he  lived  to  produce  his  best 
works. 

But  above  and  beyond  liis  wife's  care  for  his  physi- 
cal well-being  was  the  strong  courage  with  which  she 
stood  by  him  in  his  hours  of  gloom  and  heartened  him 
up  to  the  fight.     Her  profound  faith  in  his  genius 


66       LIFE  OF  IVIRS.   R.   L.   STEVENSON 

before  the  rest  of  the  world  had  come  to  recognize 
it  had  a  great  deal  to  do  with  keeping  up  his  faith 
in  himself,  and  her  discriminating  taste  in  literature 
was  such  that  he  had  begun  ev«n  then  to  submit  all 
his  writings  to  her  criticism. 

Although  his  own  life  work  lay  entirely  in  the  field 
of  letters,  he  had  a  sincere  admiration  for  work  with 
the  hands,  and  often  expressed  his  surprise  at  the 
mechanical  cleverness  of  American  women.  He  took 
pleasure  in  seeing  that  we  could  cut,  fit,  and  make 
our  owTi  clothing,  and  do  a  pretty  good  job  of  it, 
too,  and  looked  on  at  the  operation  with  serious  in- 
terest, sometimes  making  useful  suggestions,  for  he 
had  a  genuine  and  unaffected  sympathy  with  the 
work  and  aims  of  other  people,  no  matter  how  humble 
they  might  be.  Any  one  could  go  to  him  with  a 
tale  of  daily  struggle,  of  little  ambitions  bravely 
fought  for,  even  though  it  were  nothing  more  than 
a  job  as  waiter  in  a  restaurant,  and  be  sure  of  his 
respectful  consideration  and  sincere  advice,  always 
granting  that  the  ambition  were  honest  and  the  fight 
well  fought. 

Sickness  and  discouragement  were  not  enough  to 
keep  down  his  boyish  gaiety,  which  he  sometimes 
manifested  by  teasing  his  womenfolk.  One  of  his 
favourite  methods  of  doing  this  was  to  station  him- 
self on  a  chair  in  front  of  us,  and,  with  his  brown  eyes 
lighted  up  with  a  whimsical  smile,  talk  broad  Scotch, 
in  a  Highland  nasal  twang,  by  the  hour,  until  we  cried 
for  mercy.  Yet  he  was  decidedly  sensitive  about 
that  same  Scotch,  and  his  feelings  were  much  wounded 
by  hearing  me  express  a  horror  of  reading  it  in  books. 


IN   CALIFORNIA  67 

A  pleasant  trivial  circumstance  of  our  life  that  comes 
to  mind  is  an  occasion  when  we  were  all  rejoicing  in 
the  possession  of  new  clothes — a  rare  event  with  any 
of  us  in  those  days,  and  Louis  proposed  that  we 
should  celebrate  this  extraordinary  prosperity  by  an 
evening  at  the  theatre.  Women  wore  pockets  then, 
but  there  had  been  no  time  to  provide  my  dress  with 
one,  so  Louis  agreed  to  carry  my  handkerchief,  but 
only  on  condition  that  I  should  ask  for  it  when 
needed  in  a  true  Scotch  twang,  "  Gie  me  the  naepkin  ! " 
a  condition  that  I  was  compelled  to  fulfill,  no  doubt  to 
the  surprise  of  our  neighbours  at  the  theatre.  Gil- 
bert and  Sidlivan  were  in  their  heyday  tlien,  and  the 
play  given  that  night  was  The  Pirates  of  Penzance. 
Louis  said  the  London  "bobbies"  were  true  to  life. 

Chief  among  the  amusements  with  which  we  tried 
to  brighten  the  extreme  quietude  of  our  lives  in  the 
little  Oakland  house  was  reading  aloud.  We  obtained 
books  from  the  Mercantile  Library  of  San  Francisco, 
among  which  I  especially  remember  the  historical 
works  of  Francis  Parkman,  who  was  a  great  favourite 
with  Mr.  Stevenson.  He  had  a  theory  that  the  not 
uncommon  distaste  among  the  people  for  that  branch 
of  literature  was  largely  the  fault  of  the  dull  style 
adopted  by  many  historians,  and  saw  no  good  reason 
why  the  thrilling  story  of  the  great  events  of  the  world 
should  not  be  presented  in  a  manner  that  would  hold 
the  interest  of  readers.  Yet  he  had  no  patience  with 
the  sort  of  writing  that  subordinates  truth  to  the  de- 
sire of  presenting  a  striking  picture.  As  an  instance, 
certainly  of  rare  occurrence  in  Parkman,  he  noticed 
a  paragraph  in  The  Conspiracy  of  Pontiac,  in  which 


68       LIFE  OF  MRS.  R.   L.   STEVENSON 

the  author  refers  to  the  shining  of  the  moon  on  a 
certain  night  when  a  party  was  endeavouring  to  make 
a  secret  passage  down  the  river  through  hostile  coun- 
try. He  thought  it  unlikely  that  Parkman  could 
have  known  that  the  moon  shone  on  that  particular 
night,  though  it  is  possible  that  he  did  him  an  injus- 
tice, for  it  sometimes  happens  that  just  such  a  trivial 
circumstance  is  mentioned  in  the  documents  of  the 
early  explorers. 

Sometimes  he  read  aloud  to  us  from  some  French 
writer,  translating  it  into  English  as  he  read  for  our 
benefit.  Les  Etrangleurs  was  one  of  the  books  that 
he  read  to  us  in  this  way,  while  we  sat  and  sewed  our 
seams.  He  seemed  to  get  a  good  deal  of  rest  as  well 
as  amusement  from  the  reading  of  such  books  of 
mystery  and  adventure.  His  taste  was  always  for 
the  decent  in  literature,  and  he  was  much  offended 
by  the  works  of  the  writers  of  the  materialistic  school 
who  were  just  then  gaining  a  vogue.  Among  these 
was  Emile  Zola,  and  he  exacted  a  promise  from  me 
never  to  read  that  writer — a  promise  that  has  been 
faithfully  kept  to  this  day. 

His  stay  at  Monterey  had  given  him  a  fancy  to 
study  the  Spanish  language,  so  we  obtained  books  and 
began  it  together.  He  had  a  theory  that  a  language 
could  be  best  acquired  by  plunging  directly  into  it, 
but  I  have  a  suspicion  that  our  choice  of  a  drama  of 
the  sixteenth  century,  one  of  Lope  de  Vega's,  I  think, 
was  scarcely  a  wise  one  for  beginners.  He  refers  to 
this  venture  of  ours  in  a  letter  to  Sidney  Colvin  as 
"the  play  which  the  sister  and  I  are  just  beating  our 
way  through  with  two  bad  dictionaries  and  an  in- 


IN  CALIFORNU  69 

sane  grammar."  Nevertheless,  we  made  some  head- 
way, and  I  remember  that  he  marvelled  greatly  at 
the  far-fetched,  high-flown  similes  and  figures  of 
speech  indulged  in  by  the  writers  of  the  "Golden 
Age"  of  Spain.  In  spite  of  his  confessed  dislike  for 
the  cold-blooded  study  of  the  grammar,  we  did  not 
altogether  neglect  it,  and  a  day  comes  to  my  mind 
when  he  was  assisting  me  in  the  homely  task  of 
washing  the  dishes  in  the  pleasant  sunny  kitchen 
where  the  Banksia  rose  hung  its  yellow  curtain  over 
the  windows.  We  recited  Spanish  conjugations  while 
we  worked,  and  he  held  up  a  glass  for  my  inspection, 
saying:  "See  how  beautifully  I  have  polished  it, 
Nellie.  There  is  no  doubt  that  I  have  missed  my 
vocation.  I  was  bom  to  be  a  butler."  "No,  Louis,'* 
I  replied,  "some  day  you  are  to  be  a  famous  writer, 
and  who  knows  but  that  I  shall  write  about  you,  as 
the  humble  Boswell  wrote  about  Johnson,  and  tell 
the  world  how  you  once  wiped  dishes  for  me  in  this 
old  kitchen !" 

For  the  long  evenings  of  winter  we  had  a  game 
which  Louis  invented  expressly  for  our  amusement. 
Lloyd  Osbourne,  then  a  boy  of  twelve,  had  rather 
more  than  the  usual  boy's  fondness  for  stories  of  the 
sea.  It  will  be  remembered  that  it  was  to  please  this 
boy  that  Mr.  Stevenson  afterwards  wrote  Treasure 
Island.  Our  game  was  to  tell  a  continued  story,  each 
person  being  limited  to  two  minutes,  taking  up  the 
tale  at  the  point  where  the  one  before  him  left  off. 
We  older  ones  had  a  secret  understanding  that  we 
were  to  keep  Lloyd  away  from  the  sea,  but  strive  as 
we  might,  even  though  we  left  the  hero  stranded  in 


70       LIFE  OF  MRS.  R.   L.   STEVENSON 

the  middle  of  the  Desert  of  Sahara,  Lloyd  never 
failed  to  have  him  sailing  the  bounding  main  again 
before  his  allotted  two  minutes  expired. 

Many  and  long  were  the  arguments  that  we  had 
on  the  merits  of  our  respective  countries,  and  I  re- 
member that  Mr.  Stevenson  did  not  place  the  senti- 
ment of  patriotism  at  the  top  of  the  list  of  human 
virtues,  for  he  believed  that  to  concentrate  one's 
affections  and  interest  too  closely  upon  one  small 
section  of  the  earth's  surface,  simply  on  account  of 
the  accident  of  birth,  had  a  narrowing  effect  upon  a 
man's  mental  outlook  and  his  human  sj^mpathies. 
He  was  a  citizen  of  the  world  in  his  capacity  to  under- 
stand the  point  of  view  of  other  men,  of  whatsoever 
race,  colour,  or  creed,  and  it  was  this  catholicity  of 
spirit  that  made  it  possible  for  him  to  sit  upon  the 
benches  of  Portsmouth  Square  in  San  Francisco  and 
learn  something  of  real  life  from  the  human  flotsam 
and  jetsam  cast  up  there  by  fate. 

Of  all  the  popular  songs  of  America  he  liked 
Marching  Through  Georgia  and  Dixie  best.  For 
Home,  Sweet  Home  he  had  no  liking,  perhaps  from 
having  heard  it  during  some  moment  of  poignant 
homesickness.  He  said  that  such  a  song  made  too 
brutal  an  assault  upon  a  man's  tenderest  feelings, 
and  believed  it  to  be  a  much  greater  triumph  for  a 
writer  to  bring  a  smile  to  his  readers  than  a  tear — 
partly,  perhaps,  because  it  is  a  more  dijQScult  achieve- 
ment. 

Here  the  scene  changes  again,  this  time  to  San 
Francisco,  the  city  of  many  hills,  of  drifting  summer 
fogs,  and  sparkling  winter  sunshine,  the  old  city  that 


IN  CALIFORNIA  71 

now  lives  only  in  the  memories  of  those  who  knew  it 
in  the  days  when  Stevenson  climbed  the  steep  ways 
of  its  streets.  Although  he  had  something  about 
him  of  the  ennui  of  the  much-travelled  man,  and 
complained  that 

"There's  nothing  under  heaven  so  blue. 
That's  fairly  worth  the  travelling  to," 

yet  no  attraction  was  lost  on  him,  and  the  Far  West- 
ern flavour  of  San  Francisco,  with  its  added  tang  of 
the  Orient,  and  the  feeling  of  adventure  blowing  in 
on  its  salt  sea-breezes,  was  much  to  his  liking.  My 
especial  memory  here  is  of  many  walks  taken  with 
him  up  Telegraph  Hill,  where  the  streets  were  grass- 
grown  because  no  horse  could  climb  them,  and  the 
sidewalks  were  provided  with  steps  or  cleats  for  the 
assistance  of  foot-passengers.  This  hill,  formerly 
called  ''Signal  Hill,"  was  used  in  earlier  days,  on  ac- 
count of  its  commanding  outlook  over  the  sea,  as  a 
signal-station  to  indicate  the  approach  of  vessels 
and  give  their  class,  and  possibly  their  names  as  they 
neared  the  city.  When  we  took  our  laborious  walks 
up  its  precipitous  paths  it  was,  as  now,  the  especial 
home  of  Italians  and  other  Latin  people.  Mr.  Steven- 
son wondered  much  at  the  happy-go-lucky  confidence, 
or  perhaps  it  was  their  simple  trust  in  God,  with 
which  these  people  had  built  their  houses  in  the  most 
alarmingly  insecure  places,  sometimes  hanging  on  the 
very  edge  of  a  sheer  precipice,  sometimes  with  the 
several  stories  built  on  different  levels,  climbing  the 
hill  like  steps.     About  them  there  was  a  pleasant  air 


72       LIFE  OF  MRS.   R.   L.   STEVENSON 

of  foreigp  quaintness — little  railed  balconies  across 
the  fronts,  outside  stairways  leading  up  to  the  second 
stories,  and  green  blinds  to  give  a  look  of  Latin 
seclusion. 

In  stories  of  his  San  Francisco  days  there  is  much 
talk  of  the  restaurants  where  he  took  his  meals. 
The  one  that  I  particularly  remember  was  a  place 
kept  by  Frank  Garcia,  familiarly  known  as  "Frank's.** 
This  place,  being  moderately  expensive,  was  probably 
only  frequented  by  him  on  special  occasions,  when 
fortune  was  in  one  of  her  smiling  moods.  Food  was 
good  and  cheap  and  in  large  variety  in  San  Fran- 
cisco in  those  days,  and  venison  steak  was  as  often 
served  up  to  us  at  Frank's  as  beef,  while  canvasback 
ducks  had  not  yet  flown  out  of  the  poor  man's  sight; 
so  we  had  many  a  savory  meal  there,  generally  served 
by  a  waiter  named  Monroe,  with  whom  Mr.  Steven- 
son now  and  then  exchanged  a  friendly  jest.  I  re- 
member one  day  when  Monroe,  remarking  on  the 
depression  of  spirits  from  which  Louis  suffered  dur- 
ing the  temporary  absence  of  the  women  of  his  family, 
said:  "I  had  half  a  mind  to  take  him  in  a  piece  of 
calico  on  a  plate." 

Once  more  the  picture  changes,  now  to  the  town 
of  Calistoga — with  its  hybrid  name  made  up  of  sylla- 
bles from  Saratoga  and  California — where  we  stayed 
for  a  few  days  at  the  old  Springs  Hotel  while  on  our 
way  to  Mount  Saint  Helena,  to  which  mountain 
refuge  Mr.  Stevenson  was  fleeing  from  the  sea-fogs 
of  the  coast.  The  recollection  of  this  Journey  seems 
to  have  melted  into  a  general  impression  of  winding 
mountain  roads,  of  deep  canyons  full  of  tall  green 


IN  CALIFORNIA  73 

trees,  of  lovely  limpid  streams  rippling  over  the  stones 
in  darkly  shaded  depths  where  the  fern-brakes  grew 
rankly,  of  burning  summer  heat,  and  much  dust.  At 
the  Springs  Hotel  we  lived  in  one  of  the  separate 
palm-shaded  cottages  most  agreeably  maintained  for 
the  guests  who  liked  privacy.  On  the  premises  were 
tiny  sheds  built  over  the  steaming  holes  in  the  ground 
which  constituted  the  Calistoga  Hot  Springs.  It  gave 
one  a  sensation  like  walking  about  on  a  sieve  over 
a  boiling  subterranean  caldron.  Determined  not  to 
miss  any  experience,  we  each  took  a  turn  at  a  steam- 
bath  in  these  sheds,  but  the  sense  of  imminent  suffoca- 
tion was  too  strong  to  be  altogether  pleasant. 

Then  came  the  wild  ride  up  the  side  of  the  moun- 
tain, in  a  six-horse  stage  driven  at  a  reckless  rate  of 
speed  by  its  indifferent  driver,  whirling  around  curves 
where  the  outer  wheels  had  scarcely  an  inch  to  spare, 
while  we  looked  fearfully  down  upon  the  tops  of  the 
tall  trees  in  the  canyon  far  below.  If  the  horses 
slackened  their  pace  for  an  instant,  the  driver  stooped 
to  pick  up  a  stone  from  a  pile  that  he  kept  at  his 
feet  and  bombarded  them  into  a  fresh  spurt.  At  the 
Toll  House,  half-way  up  the  mountain,  which  still 
exists  in  much  the  same  condition  as  in  those  days, 
we  arrived  as  mere  animated  pillars  of  fine  white 
dust,  all  individuality  as  completely  lost  as  though  we 
had  been  shrouded  in  masks  and  dominoes. 

The  Toll  House  was  a  place  of  somnolent  peace 
and  deep  stillness,  broken  only  by  a  pleasant  drip- 
ping from  the  wooden  flume  that  brought  down  the 
cold  waters  of  some  spring  hidden  in  the  thick  green 
growth    far    up    on    the    mountainside.     And    such 


74       LIFE  OF  MRS.  R.  L.   STEVENSON 

water !  He  who  has  once  tasted  of  the  nectar  of  a 
Cahfornia  mountain  spring  "will  not  ask  for  wine!" 
At  the  Toll  House  we  had  liberal  country  meals,  with 
venison  steaks,  served  to  us  every  day.  Bear  were 
still  killed  on  the  mountain,  but  I  do  not  remember 
having  any  to  eat.  From  this  place  we  climbed,  by 
way  of  a  toilsome  and  stiflingly  hot  footpath  running 
through  a  tangle  of  thick  undergrowth,  to  the  old 
Silverado  mine  bunk-house,  where  the  Stevenson 
family  took  up  their  headquarters.  People  said  there 
were  many  rattlesnakes  about,  and  now  and  then 
we  saw  indubitable  evidence  of  their  presence  in  a 
long,  spotted  body  lying  in  the  road,  where  it  had 
been  killed  by  some  passer-by,  but  fear  of  them  never 
troubled  our  footsteps.  In  The  Silverado  Squatters 
Mr.  Stevenson  says,  "The  place  abounded  with 
rattlesnakes,  and  the  rattles  whizzed  on  every  side 
like  spinning-wheels,"  but  I  am  inclined  to  think  that 
he  often  mistook  the  buzzing  noise  made  by  locusts, 
or  some  other  insect,  for  the  rattle  of  the  snakes. 

The  old  bunk-house  seemed  to  me  an  incredibly 
uncomfortable  place  of  residence.  Its  situation,  on 
top  of  the  mine-dump  piled  against  the  precipitous 
mountainside,  permitted  no  chance  to  take  a  step 
except  upon  the  treacherous  rolling  stones  of  the 
dump;  but  we  bore  with  its  manifest  disadvantages 
for  the  sake  of  its  one  high  redeeming  virtue — its 
entire  freedom  from  the  fog  which  we  dreaded  for 
the  sick  man.  It  was  excessively  hot  there  during 
the  day,  but  there  was  one  place  where  coolness  always 
held  sway — the  mouth  of  the  old  tunnel,  from  whose 
dark,  mysterious  depths,  which  we  never  dared  ex- 


IN  CALIFORNIA  75 

plore  for  fear  of  stepping  off  into  some  forgotten 
shaft,  a  cold,  damp  wind  blew  continuousl3\  Just 
inside  its  entrance  we  established  a  cold-storage  plant, 
for  there  all  articles  kept  delightfully  fresh  in  the 
hottest  weather.  When  the  coolness  of  the  evening 
fell,  "it  was  good  to  gather  stones  and  send  them 
crashing  down  the  chute,"  and  indeed  this  was  almost 
our  only  pastime  in  our  queer  mountain  eyrie.  The 
noise  made  by  these  stones  as  they  went  bounding 
down  the  chute  was  sent  back  in  tremendous  rolling 
echoes  by  the  mountains  on  the  opposite  side  of  the 
valley,  and  it  pleased  us  to  liken  it  to  the  noise  heard 
by  Rip  Van  Winkle,  "like  distant  peals  of  thunder," 
made  by  the  ghosts  of  Hendrik  Hudson's  men  play- 
ing at  ninepins  in  the  Catskill  Mountains. 

Then  back  to  San  Francisco,  where  the  only  mem- 
ory that  remains  is  that  of  a  confused  blur  of  prepa- 
rations for  leaving — packing,  ticket-buying,  and  mel- 
ancholy farewells — for  the  time  had  come  to  return 
to  old  Scotland  to  introduce  a  newlj'^  acquired  Ameri- 
can wife  to  waiting  parents. 

One  day  Louis  came  in  with  his  pockets  full  of 
twenty-dollar  gold  pieces,  with  which  he  had  supplied 
himself  for  the  Journey.  He  thought  this  piece  of 
money  the  handsomest  coin  in  the  world,  and  said 
it  made  a  man  feel  rich  merely  to  handle  it.  In  a 
jesting  mood,  he  drew  the  coins  from  his  pockets, 
threw  them  on  the  table,  whence  they  rolled  right 
and  left  on  the  floor,  and  said:  "Just  look!  I'm 
simply  lousy  wid  money!" 

Then  came  the  parting,  which  proved  to  be  eternal, 
for  I  never  saw  him  again;    but  perhaps  it  is  better 


76       LIFE  OF  MRS.   R.  L.  STEVENSON 

to  remember  him  only  as  he  was  then — before  the 
rainbow  hues  of  youth  had  faded. 

To  this  picture,  which  represents  my  own  personal 
recollections  of  the  California  period,*  something  yet 
remains  to  be  added.  Many  obstacles  seemed  to 
block  the  path  to  happiness  of  these  two  people,  not 
the  least  of  which  was  Louis's  ill  health  and  conse- 
quent inability  to  earn  a  suJBBcient  sum  to  support 
new  obligations.  To  his  great  joy  this  difficulty  was 
finally  smoothed  away  by  a  promise  from  his  father 
of  an  allowance  large  enough  for  their  needs  until 
such  time  as  restored  health  might  bring  about  his 
independence.  I  remember  the  day  this  word  came 
from  his  father,  and  the  exceeding  happiness  it  gave 
him.  While  it  is  true  that  his  parents  had  at  first 
objected  to  his  marriage,  their  objections  were  based, 
not  on  the  matter  of  the  divorce,  for  they  held  ex- 
tremely liberal  views  on  that  subject,  but  simply 
on  the  fact  of  his  choice  being  an  American  and  a 
stranger.  They  would,  quite  naturally,  have  pre- 
ferred a  daughter-in-law  of  their  own  race  and  ac- 
quaintance, but  both  were  intensely  attached  to 
their  only  and  gifted  son,  and,  although  his  decision 
caused  their  own  plans  to  "gang  agley,"  when  they 
found  that  his  mind  was  irrevocably  made  up,  they 
yielded  without  reserve,  and  prepared  to  welcome 
their  new  daughter  to  their  home  and  hearts.  Writ- 
ing at  this  time  to  his  friend  Mr.  Edmund  Gosse, 
Stevenson  expressed  his  satisfaction  at  the  turn  affairs 
were  taking  in  these  words: 

"Many  of  the  thunderclouds  that  were  overhanging 

*  Previously  published  in  Scribner'a  Magazine^  October,  1916. 


IN  CALIFORNU  77 

me  when  last  I  wrote  have  silently  stolen  away,  like 
Longfellow's  Arabs;  and  I  am  now  engaged  to  be 
married  to  the  woman  whom  I  have  loved  for  three 
years  and  a  half.  I  will  boast  myself  so  far  as  to 
say  that  I  do  not  think  many  wives  are  better  loved 
than  mine  will  be." 

When  the  rain-clouds  at  last  rolled  away,  and  the 
snow  had  melted  from  the  mountain-tops  in  the 
Coast  Range,  Fanny  Osboume  and  Robert  Louis 
Stevenson  went  quietly  across  the  bay  and  were 
married,  on  May  19,  1880,  by  the  Reverend  Mr. 
Scott,  with  only  Mrs.  Scott  and  Mrs.  Virgil  Williams 
as  witn^ses.  It  was  a  serious,  rather  than  a  joyous 
occasion,  for  both  realized  that  a  future  overcast 
with  doubt  lay  before  them.  In  1881  Stevenson 
wrote  from  Pitlochry  in  Scotland  to  Mr.  P.  G. 
Hamerton: 

"It  was  not  my  bliss  that  I  was  interested  in  when 
I  was  married;  it  was  a  sort  of  marriage  in  extremis; 
and  if  I  am  where  I  am,  it  is  tlianks  to  the  care  of 
that  lady,  who  married  me  when  I  was  a  mere  com- 
plication of  cough  and  bones,  much  fitter  for  an 
emblem  of  mortality  than  a  bridegroom." 

As  for  her,  she  married  him  when  his  fortunes, 
both  in  health  and  finances,  were  at  their  lowest  ebb, 
and  she  took  this  step  in  the  almost  certain  convic- 
tion that  in  a  few  months  at  least  she  would  be  a 
widow.  .The  best  that  she  hoped  for  was  to  make 
his  last  days  as  comfortable  and  happy  as  possible, 
and  that  her  self-sacrifice  was  to  receive  the  bounti- 
ful reward  of  fourteen  rich  years  in  his  companion- 
ship, during  which  time  she  was  to  see  him  win  fame 


78       LIFE  OF  MRS.  R.   L.   STEVENSON 

and  fortune  by  the  exercise  of  his  genius,  was  far 
from  her  dreams. 

At  the  time  of  their  marriage  they  took  with  them 
Mrs.  Stevenson's  son,  Samuel  Lloyd  Osbourne,  her 
daughter  having  been  married  a  short  time  before  to 
Joseph  Strong,  a  well-known  artist  of  the  Pacific 
Coast.  Mr.  Stevenson  took  this  boy,  then  about 
twelve  years  of  age,  to  his  heart  as  his  own.  In  fact 
he  always  counted  it  as  one  of  the  blessings  that 
came  through  his  wife  that  she  brought  to  him,  a 
childless  man,  a  son  and  daughter  to  be  a  comfort 
to  him  in  all  the  years  of  his  life.  In  his  talk  at  his 
last  Thanksgiving  dinner  he  referred  to  this  as  one 
of  his  chief  reasons  for  gratitude. 

In  the  healing  air  of  Mount  Saint  Helena  the  in- 
valid grew  better  with  astonishing  rapidity,  and  at 
the  end  of  June  he  wrote  to  his  mother: 

"You  must  indeed  pardon  me.  This  hfe  takes  up 
all  my  time  and  strength.  I  am  truly  better;  I  am 
allowed  to  do  nothing,  never  leave  our  little  platform 
in  the  canyon  nor  do  a  stroke  of  work.  No  one  to 
see  me  now  would  think  I  was  an  invalid." 

When,  in  1883,  his  mother  expressed  surprise  that 
such  a  rough  place  should  have  been  chosen  for  his 
cure,  her  daughter-in-law  answered: 

"You  wonder  at  my  allowing  Louis  to  go  to  such 
a  place.  Why,  if  you  only  knew  how  thankful  I 
was  to  get  there  with  him !  I  was  told  that  nothing 
else  would  save  his  life,  and  I  believe  it  was  true. 
We  could  not  afford  to  go  to  a  'mountain  resort' 
place,  and  there  was  no  other  chance.  Then,  on  the 
other  hand,  the  next  day  I  put  in  doors  and  windows 


:                            ■                                                                            1 

^^|M^  ^jl^^     '  'Ij^^ 

£K/ki6^     ^^ 

''^^^^%^IH 

■    \. .  *  ■■:^''^:^'i^\m^v'^^^'" 

^        .^.^./■•.■.^'■•:;,:t"           •  ' 

^ 

Fannv  Osbourne  at  the  time  of  her  marriage  tjji  '  J 


/  -^AUTHORS'  REP^^"  HOl^l-^^^^" 


IN  CALIFORNIA  79 

of  light  frames  covered  with  white  cotton,  with  bits 
of  leather  from  the  old  boots  (miners'  boots  found  in 
the  deserted  cabin)  for  hinges,  made  seats  and  beds, 
and  got  things  to  look  quite  homelike.  We  got  white 
and  red  wine,  dried  peaches  and  fruits  which  we  kept 
cool  in  the  tunnel  and  which  we  enjoyed  extremely. 
Louis  says  nothing  about  the  flowers,  but  the  beauty 
of  them  was  beyond  description,  to  say  nothing  of  the 
perfume.  At  the  back  door  was  a  thicket  of  trees 
covered  with  cream-colored  and  scarlet  lilies.  I 
have  never  seen  the  like  anywhere  in  the  world.'* 

Again  she  wi'ites  from  Calistoga,  July  16,  1880,  to 
the  yet  unknown  mother-in-law: 

"As  to  my  dear  boy's  appearance,  he  improves 
every  day  in  the  most  wonderful  way,  so  that  I  fancy 
by  the  time  you  see  him  you  will  hardly  know  that 
he  has  ever  been  ill  at  all.  I  do  try  to  take  care  of 
him;  the  old  doctor  insists  that  my  nursing  saved 
him;  I  cannot  quite  think  it  myself,  as  I  shouldn't 
have  known  what  to  do  without  the  doctor's  advice, 
but  even  having  it  said  is  a  pleasure  to  me.  Taking 
care  of  Louis  is,  as  you  must  know,  very  like  angling 
for  shy  trout;  one  must  understand  when  to  pay  out 
the  line,  and  exercise  the  greatest  caution  in  drawing 
him  in.  I  am  becoming  most  expert,  though  it  is 
an  anxious  business.  I  do  not  believe  that  any  of 
Louis's  friends,  outside  of  his  own  family,  have  ever 
realized  how  very  low  he  has  been;  letters  followed 
him  continually,  imploring,  almost  demanding  his 
immediate  return  to  England,  when  the  least  fatigue, 
the  shortest  journey,  might,  and  probably  would, 
have  proved  fatal;   and,  which  at  the  moment  filled 


80       LIFE  OF  MRS.   R.   L.  STEVENSON 

mj^  heart  with  bitterness  against  them,  they  actually 
asked  for  work.  Now,  at  last,  I  think  he  may  ven- 
ture to  make  the  journey  without  fear,  though  every 
step  must  be  made  cautiously.  I  am  sure  now  that 
he  is  on  the  high  road  to  recovery  and  health,  and  I 
believe  his  best  medicine  will  be  the  meeting  with 
you  and  his  father,  for  whom  he  pines  like  a  child. 
I  have  had  a  sad  time  through  it  all,  but  it  has  been 
worse  for  you,  I  know.  I  am  now  able  to  say  that  all 
things  are  for  the  best.  Louis  has  come  out  of  this 
illness  a  better  man  than  he  was  before;  not  that  I 
did  not  think  him  good  always,  but  the  atmosphere 
of  the  valley  of  the  shadow  is  purifying  to  a  true  soul; 
and  though  he  may  be  no  nearer  your  hearts  than 
before,  I  believe  you  will  take  more  comfort  in  your 
son  than  you  have  ever  done.  I  trust  that  in  about 
two  weeks  we  shall  be  able  to  start,  and  perhaps  in 
less  time  than  that.  Please  remember  that  my  pho- 
tograph is  flattering;  unfortunately  all  photographs 
of  me  are;  I  can  get  no  other.  At  the  same  time 
Louis  thinks  me,  and  to  him  I  believe  I  am,  the 
most  beautiful  creature  in  the  world.  It  is  because 
he  loves  me  that  he  thinks  that,  so  I  am  very  glad. 
I  do  so  earnestly  hope  that  you  will  like  me,  but  tliat 
can  only  be  for  what  I  am  to  you  after  you  know  me, 
and  I  do  not  want  you  to  be  disappointed  in  the  be- 
ginning in  anything  about  me,  even  in  so  small  a 
thing  as  my  looks.  Your  fancy  that  I  may  be  a 
business  person  is  a  sad  mistake.  I  am  no  better 
in  that  respect  than  Louis,  and  he  has  gifts  that  com- 
pensate for  any  lack.  I  fear  it  is  only  genius  that  is 
allowed  to  be  stupid  in  ordinary  things." 


IN  CALIFORNIA  81 

In  this  letter  the  natural  trepidation  with  which 
she  looked  forward  to  the  meeting  with  her  husband's 
parents,  divided  as  they  were  from  her  in  race  and 
customs,  is  evident.  She  was,  as  she  confessed  to 
some  of  her  friends,  quite  terrified  at  the  prospect, 
especially  as  concerned  tlie  elder  Mr.  Stevenson, 
whose  portrait  represented  a  serious  Scotchman  with 
a  stern,  almost  forbidding  face,  firm  mouth,  and  long 
upper  lip.  Her  fear  of  her  mother-in-law  was  less, 
for  from  her  she  had  had  many  affectionate  and  re- 
assuring letters.  How  utterly  groundless  her  appre- 
hensions were  in  this  matter  we  shall  see  later. 

Notwithstanding  the  uncertainty  of  the  future  that 
lay  before  them,  they  were  both  exceedingly  happy 
in  the  fruition  of  their  long-frustrated  plans,  and  for 
her  it  lifted  a  cloud  that  had  rested  upon  her  spirits 
for  years.  One  day  in  San  Francisco,  shortly  after 
the  marriage,  her  daughter,  upon  entering  a  room, 
stopped  with  a  sudden  shock,  startled  by  the  unac- 
customed sound  of  a  light  happy  laugh,  the  first  she 
remembered  ever  having  heard  from  the  lips  of  her 
mother.  For  the  first  time  she  realized  what  a  sad 
and  bitter  life  Fanny  Osbourne's  had  been. 

Louis's  health  now  being  considered  strong  enough 
for  the  journey,  they  left  their  sunny  eyrie  on  the 
mountainside  in  July,  and  on  August  7,  1880,  sailed 
from  New  York  for  England. 


CHAPTER  VI 
EUROPE  AND  THE  BRITISH  ISLES 

When  the  newly  married  pair  reached  Scotland  all 
the  fears  of  the  American  bride  vanished  like  mist 
before  the  sun,  for  her  husband's  parents  instantly 
took  her  to  their  hearts  as  though  she  had  been  their 
own  choice.  In  Tlie  Letters  of  Robert  Louis  Stevenson 
Sir  Sidney  Colvin  says: 

*'0f  her  new  family  Mrs.  Robert  Louis  Stevenson, 
brought  thus  strangely  and  from  afar  into  their  midst, 
made  an  immediate  conquest.  To  her  husband's 
especial  happiness,  there  sprang  up  between  her  and 
his  father  the  closest  possible  affection  and  confidence. 
Parents  and  friends,  if  it  is  permissible  for  one  of  the 
latter  to  say  as  mudfi,  rejoiced  to  recognize  m  Steven- 
son's wife  a  character  as  strong,  as  interesting,  and 
romantic  as  his  own;  an  inseparable  sharer  of  all  his 
thoughts,  and  staunch  companion  of  all  his  adven- 
tures; the  most  open-hearted  of  friends  to  all  who 
loved  him,  the  most  shrewd  and  stimulating  critic 
of  his  work;  and  in  sickness  .  .  .  the  most  devoted 
and  efficient  of  nurses." 

Mr.  Edmund  Gosse  writes  in  the  Century  Magazine^ 
1895: 

"He  had  married  in  California  a  charming  lady 
whom  we  all  learned  to  regard  as  the  most  appropriate 
and  helpful  companion  that  Louis  could  possibly  have 
secured." 

82 


EUROPE   AND   THE   BRITISH   ISLES     83 

Concerning  her  relations  with  her  mother-in-law, 
another  friend,  Lady  Balfour,  writes: 

"It  is  a  testimonial  both  to  her  and  to  Mrs.  Thomas 
Stevenson  that  though  they  were  as  the  poles  apart 
in  character,  yet  each  loved  and  appreciated  the  otlier 
most  fully."  How  different  they  were  in  training 
and  ideas  of  life  is  illustrated  by  a  trivial  incident 
that  occurred  when  the  younger  woman  was  visiting 
at  the  home  of  her  husband's  parents  in  Scotland. 
Her  mother-in-law  asked  her  if  she  never  "worked.'* 
In  some  surprise  she  replied  that  she  had  indeed 
worked,  and  then  found  out  that  the  elder  lady 
meant  fancy-work.  Thereupon  the  two  went  out 
shopping  and  bought  all  the  things  needful  for  a 
piano-cover  to  be  embroidered  with  roses.  In  a  few 
days  the  piano-cover,  exquisitely  finished,  was  tri- 
umphantly brought  for  Mrs.  Thomas  Stevenson's 
inspection,  but  that  lady,  shocked  at  this  American 
strenuousness,  threw  up  her  hands  and  exclaimed: 
"Oh,  Fanny!  How  could  you!  That  piece  should 
have  lasted  you  all  summer!" 

Thomas  Stevenson,  however,  was  far  more  for- 
midable; to  the  female  members  of  his  family  his 
word  was  law,  but  to  his  pretty  daughter-in-law  he 
capitulated — horse,  foot,  and  dragoons — and  his  son 
was  heard  to  say  that  he  had  never  seen  his  father 
so  completely  subjugated.  It  is  true,  on  the  other 
hand,  that  she  made  every  effort  to  please  him,  and 
took  pains  not  to  offend  his  old-fasliioned  and  rigidly 
conventional  ideas.  For  instance,  when  he  objected 
to  black  stockings,  which  were  just  then  coming  into 
vogue  for  ladies,  she  yielded  to  his  prejudice  and 


84       LIFE  OF  MRS.   R.   L.   STEVENSON 

always  wore  white  ones  while  at  his  house.  He  had 
a  deep  respect  for  her  judgment  in  literary  matters, 
and  made  his  son  promise  "never  to  publish  any- 
thing without  her  approval."  This  regard  was  mu- 
tual, and  she  said  of  him:  "I  shall  always  believe  that 
something  unusual  and  great  was  lost  to  the  world 
in  Thomas  Stevenson.  One  could  almost  see  the 
struggle  betwfien  the  creature  of  cramped  hereditary 
conventions  and  the  man  nature  had  intended  him 
to  be."  As  his  health  failed  he  grew  to  depend  upon 
her  more  and  more,  and  there  was  between  them  an 
interchange  of  much  friendliness  and  many  little 
jests.  A  rather  amusing  thing  happened  once  when 
the  two  were  together  in  London  picking  out  furnish- 
ings for  the  house  he  had  bought  for  her  at  Bourne- 
mouth. One  afternoon  they  dropped  in  at  a  hotel 
for  tea.  It  had  been  ordered  by  the  doctors  that 
he  should  have  bicarbonate  of  soda  in  his  tea,  which 
it  seems  he  did  not  like  if  he  saw  it  put  in,  but  if  he 
did  not  see  it  never  knew  the  difference.  When  the 
tea  was  brought  his  daughter-in-law,  having  diverted 
his  attention,  slyly  dropped  in  the  soda.  Glancing 
up,  she  saw  in  the  looking-glass  the  reflection  of  the 
horrified  face  of  the  waiter.  When  she  told  this 
story  to  her  husband  he  immediately  began  to  weave 
a  thrilling  plot  around  the  suspicion  that  might  have 
fallen  upon  her  if  her  father-in-law  had  happened 
to  die  suddenly  just  then,  especially  as  his  son  was 
his  chief  heir.  Uncle  Tom,  as  she  usually  called  him, 
had  all  sorts  of  pet  names  for  her,  but  the  usual  re- 
mark was  "I  doot  ye're  a  besom."  *     She  was  in 

*  In  American  phrase,  a  "bossy"  person. 


EUROPE  AND  THE  BRITISH  ISLES     85 

all  ways  a  true  daughter  to  him,  a  comfort  in  his  old 
age  and  last  distressing  illness,  and  when  he  died  she 
mourned  him  sincerely. 

To  the  Scotch  servants  in  her  mother-in-law's  house 
she  was  something  of  an  enigma.  One  of  them  told 
her  she  "spoke  English  very  well  for  a  foreigner," 
One  day  she  heard  two  of  them  talking  about  a 
Mr.  McCollop  who  had  just  returned  from  Africa. 
"He's  merrit  a  black  woman,"  said  one,  and  in  a 
mirror  the  other  was  seen  to  point  to  Mrs.  Steven- 
son's back  and  put  her  finger  to  her  lips,  as  though 
to  say:  "Don't  mention  black  wives  before  her!" 

It  was  soon  seen  that  Louis  could  not  face  a  Scotch 
winter,  with  its  raw  winds  and  cold,  drizzling  rains, 
and  sometimes  his  wife  felt  regrets  for  the  sunny 
perch  on  the  California  mountainside,  where  health 
and  strength  had  once  come  back  to  him  so  marvel- 
lously. It  was  finally  decided  to  try  the  dry,  clear 
air  of  Davos  Platz,  in  the  high  Alps  of  Switzerland, 
which  was  just  then  coming  into  prominence  as  a 
cure  for  lung  diseases,  and  in  October,  1880,  the  little 
family,  husband,  wife,  and  the  boy,  Lloyd  Osbourne, 
set  forth  on  the  arduous  journey  thither. 

To  see  publishers  and  for  other  necessary  business, 
they  stopped  in  London  on  the  way,  where  Mrs. 
Stevenson  was  much  troubled  lest  her  husband  should 
suffer  harm  from  the  thick,  foggy  atmosphere  and  the 
fatigue  of  meeting  people.  Because  he  was  too  weak 
to  see  many  visitors,  she  kept  them  off,  which  threw 
a  sort  of  mystery  about  him,  and  led  to  his  being 
called  in  London  "the  veiled  prophet."  The  only 
persons  she  had  trouble  with,  were  the  doctors,  who 


86       LIFE  OF  MRS.   R.   L.   STEVENSON 

were  themselves  so  fascinated  by  his  conversation 
tliat  they  often  stayed  too  long.  The  task  of  keeping 
his  parents  informed  of  his  state  was  now  added  to 
her  duties,  and  in  letters  to  her  mother-in-law  from 
London  she  says: 

"As  it  is  short  and  often  that  seems  to  be  wanted, 
I  thought  I  would  send  off  a  note  to-night  to  say 
that  if  nothing  happens  we  leave  London  to-morrow, 
and  glad  enough  I  shall  be  to  get  away.  .  .  .  For 
no  one  in  the  world  will  I  stop  in  London  another 
hour  after  the  time  set.  It  is  a  most  unhealthful 
place  at  this  season,  and  Louis  knows  far  too  many 
people  to  get  a  moment's  rest.  .  .  .  Company  comes 
in  at  all  hours  from  early  morning  till  late  at  night, 
so  that  I  almost  never  have  a  moment  alone,  and  if 
we  do  not  soon  get  away  from  London  I  shall  become 
an  embittered  woman.  It  is  not  good  for  my  mind, 
nor  my  body  either,  to  sit  smiling  at  Louis's  friends 
until  I  feel  like  a  hypocritical  Cheshire  cat,  talking 
stiff  nothings  with  one  and  another  in  order  to  let 
Louis  have  a  chance  with  the  one  he  cares  the  most 
for,  and  all  the  time  furtively  watching  the  clock  and 
thirsting  for  their  blood  because  they  stay  so  late. ..." 

The  vigilant  eyes  of  love  had  taught  her  by  this 
time  something  yet  undiscovered  by  the  scientists, 
that  is,  the  contagious  nature  of  influenza,  and,  hav- 
ing observed  that  whenever  her  husband  came  in 
contact  with  any  one  suffering  from  a  cold,  he  in- 
variably caught  it — a  very  serious  matter  for  one  in 
his  condition — she  kept  guard  over  him  like  a  fiery 
little  watch-dog,  never  allowing  any  one  with  a  cold 
to  enter  the  house.     If  she  had  one  herself  she  kept 


EUROPE  AND  THE  BRITISH  ISLES     87 

away  from  him  till  it  was  over.  There  were  many 
quarrels  on  the  subject,  for  his  friends,  some  of 
whom  refused  to  recognize  the  necessity  for  such 
precautions,  would  be  furious;  but  the  worst  trouble 
was  with  the  doctors  themselves,  who  would  come  to 
attend  him  with  sneezing  and  snorting,  and  find  their 
way  blocked.  One  doctor  said  she  was  silly  about 
it,  for  it  was  absolutely  impossible  to  catch  a  cold 
from  anything  but  an  open  window,  or  wet  feet,  or 
a  draught.  Her  friends,  or  rather  Louis's  friends, 
were  well  trained  in  time,  and  she  would  sometimes 
get  a  message  something  like  this:  *'I  can't  keep  my 
engagement  to  see  Louis  to-day,  for  I  have  a  cold, 
but  as  soon  as  I  am  over  it  I  will  let  you  know." 
Mr.  Stevenson  himself  had  a  humourous  way  of  re- 
ferring to  persons  with  colds  as  "pizon  sarpints," 
and  strangers  may  have  wondered  to  hear  him  say: 
"I'm  not  seeing  my  friend  So-and-so  just  now,  be- 
cause he's  a  pizon  sarpint."  Once  at  Saranac,  in  the 
Adirondack  Mountains  in  America,  their  friends  the 
Fairchilds  came  to  see  them,  but,  as  both  had  colds, 
they  were  not  permitted  to  enter,  and  conversed  by 
signs  with  Mr.  Stevenson  through  a  closed  window. 
They  were  good-natured,  however,  about  what  they 
probably  regarded  as  Mrs.  Stevenson's  whim,  and 
when  both  were  well  came  again,  waving  from  a  dis- 
tance perfectly  clean  handkerchiefs  as  their  passport. 

Having  at  last  escaped  from  the  dreaded  London 
fogs,  they  reached  Troyes  in  France,  where  Fanny's 
heart  expanded  under  the  brighter  skies  that  brought 
back  memories  of  her  own  land.  She  writes:  "We 
have  had   lovely   weather — warm,   sunny,   fragrant. 


88       LIFE  OF  MRS.   R.   L.  STEVENSON 

I  did  not  realize  before  how  much  like  America  France 
is.  The  sky  seems  so  high,  and  the  world  so  big  and 
fresh."  Reluctantly  these  two  sun-loving  people 
turned  their  steps  from  this  pleasant  place  towards 
the  frozen  heights  of  Davos,  where  they  arrived  on 
November  4,  and  were  pleased  to  find  congenial 
friends  in  John  Addington  Symonds  and  his  wife. 

Life  was  far  from  exciting  in  this  remote  place,  and 
the  shut-in  feeling  of  its  situation,  enclosed  by  hills 
and  with  no  outlook,  sometimes  made  the  sick  man 
impatient,  yet  his  health  improved  and  he  was  even 
able  to  take  part  in  outdoor  sports,  such  as  tobog- 
ganing.    Mrs.  Stevenson  writes: 

"Life  is  most  monotonous  here,  which  is  after  all 
the  best  thing  for  Louis,  although  he  tires  of  it  some- 
times. We  have  had  a  few  badly  acted  plays  and 
one  snowstorm;  there  was  a  quarrel  between  a  lady 
and  her  son's  tutor,  and  a  lady  lost  a  ring.  Otherwise 
the  current  of  our  lives  flows  on  without  change.  .  .  . 
I  have  made  a  couple  of  pretty  caps  for  the  ladies' 
bazaar,  and  if  I  can  get  the  use  of  a  sitting  room  will 
paint  them  some  things.  .  .  .  We  have  an  enormous 
porcelain  stove  like  a  monument  that  reaches  from 
the  floor  to  the  ceiling.  It  has,  however,  to  be  fed 
only  twice  a  day,  and  then  not  in  great  quantities. 
Louis  has  long  boots  and  is  very  proud  of  them. 
He  said  himself  that  he  looked  like  'puss  in  boots,* 
but  was  much  hurt  because  the  suggestion  was  re- 
ceived as  a  good  one.  He  thought  we  would  say: 
'How  ridiculous!  Wliy,  you  look  just  like  a  brig- 
and ! '  But  the  great  thing  is  that  the  climate  is 
doing  Louis  good.     To  have  him   recover  entirely 


EUROPE  AND  THE  BRITISH  ISLES     89 

will  be  so  splendid  that  I  must  murmur  at  nothing." 
The  last  is  perhaps  a  reference  to  the  bad  effect  of 
the  altitude  on  her  own  health,  for  her  heart  was  so 
severely  affected  that  she  was  compelled  to  spend 
much  of  the  time  lying  on  a  couch,  and  was  finaUy 
obliged  to  go  away  for  a  time. 

These  two  were  congenially  alike  in  their  careless 
indifference  to  the  minor  details  of  life.  Neither  ever 
dated  a  letter,  and  both  invariably  forgot  all  anni- 
versaries, even  having  to  be  reminded  of  their  own 
wedding-day  by  his  scandalized  mother.  What  Mr. 
S.  S.  McClure  called  Fanny  Stevenson's  "robust,  in- 
consequential philosophy  of  life"  permitted  her  to 
accept  with  calm  situations  which  would  have  driven 
another  woman  to  distraction.  Even  in  that  sad 
colony  of  the  sick  she  found  compensations,  and 
writing  of  this  she  says: 

"It  is  depressing  to  live  with  dying  and  suffering 
people  all  about  you,  but  a  sanatorium  develops  a 
great  deal  of  human  interest  and  sympathy. 
Every  one  knows  what  the  others  should  do,  and 
each  among  the  patients  helps  to  look  after  the  rest. 
The  path  of  duty  always  lies  so  plain  before  other 
people's  feet.  .  .  .  Then  there  are  always  little 
kindnesses  going  on  that  warm  the  heart.  The  other 
morning  I  told  Louis  I  had  dreamed  that  Alfred 
Cornish  had  made  him  a  present  of  his  toboggan, 
and  sure  enough  the  first  thing  when  Louis  went  out 
up  came  Cornish  and  presented  him  with  the  tobog- 
gan. I  had  never  thought  of  such  a  thing  and  don't 
see  why  I  dreamed  it." 

At  Davos  they  had  a  great  deal  of  trouble  with 


90       LIFE  OF  MRS.  R.  L.   STEVENSON 

their  little  dog,  Woggs,  a  beautiful  but  eccentric 
Skye  terrier  that  had  been  given  them  by  Sir  Walter 
Simpson.  Both  were  tenderly  considerate  of  animals, 
and  when  this  little  creature  was  ill  with  a  cankered 
ear  they  took  turns  sitting  up  at  night  with  him. 
She  writes  of  him:  "Woggs  is  ill-tempered,  and  ob- 
stinate, and  rather  sly,  but  he  is  lovable  and  intelli- 
gent. I  imagine  that  it  is  with  dogs  as  with  people — 
it  is  not  for  being  good  alone  that  we  love  them." 

Here  Stevenson  wrote  but  little.  Of  his  work 
she  says: 

"Louis  is  worried  because  he  thinks  he  cannot 
write  as  gracefully  as  he  used  to,  but  I  believe  his 
writing  is  more  direct  and  stronger,  and  that  when  he 
is  able  to  join  his  old  style  with  the  new  he  will  do 
better  work  than  he  dreams  of  now.  His  later  work 
is  fuller  of  thought,  more  manly  in  every  way." 

With  the  month  of  March  came  Mrs.  Stevenson's 
birthday,  and,  to  her  great  surprise  and  confusion, 
it  was  made  the  occasion  of  a  general  fete  in  which 
the  whole  colony  took  part.  She  thus  describes  the 
affair: 

"I  was  told  there  was  to  be  a  dance  in  the  dining- 
room  and  cake  and  ices  in  my  honor,  so  Louis  and 
I  went  down  in  the  evening.  I  watclied  the  dancing 
awhile,  when  suddenly  I  found  myself  seated  alone 
at  the  end  of  the  room.  Judge  of  my  surprise,  and 
I  must  confess,  dismay,  when  I  saw  the  two  little 
Doney  children,  in  Watteau  costumes,  looking  just 
like  bits  of  porcelain  painting,  coming  down  the  center 
towards  me,  one  bearing  a  large  birthday  cake  and 
the  other  a  bouquet  of  flowers.     The  beautiful  little 


EUROPE  AND  THE  BRITISH  ISLES     91 

creatures  dropped  on  their  knees  at  my  feet  and  pre- 
sented their  offerings.  I  suppose  I  should  have  said 
something,  but  Louis  said  I  did  the  best  thing  pos- 
sible; I  only  kissed  both  the  darlings.  Other  people 
had  had  birthdays  and  only  received  congratulations, 
so  I  felt  horribly  embarrassed  by  all  these  grand  doings 
in  a  public  room,  though  I  was  very  grateful  for  the 
friendly  feelings  of  those  who  arranged  the  affair." 

The  snow  came  late,  but  during  the  winter  it  lay 
deep  and  heavy  on  the  ground,  making  the  roads 
almost  impassable  and  their  isolation  more  complete. 
Both  husband  and  wife  began  to  feel  an  almost  un- 
controllable depression  amid  these  bleak  surround- 
ings, aggravated  as  they  were  by  many  deaths 
among  the  patients.  As  spring  approached  Mrs. 
Stevenson  wrote: 

*' Louis  is  not  very  well  and  not  very  ill.  Spring, 
I  think,  sits  upon  him,  and  so  also  all  these  deaths 
and  Bertie's*  illness.  As  soon  as  he  is  a  little  stronger 
the  doctor  is  going  to  send  him  to  some  place  in  the 
neighborhood  for  a  change." 

And  she,  to  whom  warmth  and  colour  were  a  very 
part  of  her  nature,  was  an  exotic,  a  lost  tropic  bird, 
in  these  icy  mountains.  In  a  letter  to  her  mother-in- 
law  her  heart  cried  out:  "I  cannot  deny  that  living 
here  is  like  living  in  a  well  of  desolation.  Sometimes 
I  feel  quite  frantic  to  look  out  somewhere,  and  almost 
as  though  I  should  suffocate.  But  may  Davos  for- 
give me !  It  has  done  so  much  for  Louis  that  I  am 
ashamed  to  say  anything  against  it." 

In  the  latter  part  of  April  their  discontent  went 

*  The  son  of  Mrs.  Sitwell,  now  Lady  Colvin. 


92      LIFE  OF  MRS.  R.  L.  STEVENSON 

beyond  endurance,  and,  believing  his  health  now 
sufficiently  improved  to  warrant  the  risk,  they  turned 
their  steps  once  more  towards  their  beloved  France, 
where  they  spent  a  month  between  Barbizon,  St. 
Germain,  and  Paris. 

In  Paris  their  haunting  Nemesis  gave  them  a  little 
breathing  spell,  and  when  Louis's  strength  permitted, 
they  wandered  about  the  streets  in  their  own  care- 
less, irresponsible  fashion,  having  a  delightful  time 
poking  into  all  sorts  of  strange  places,  in  one  of  which 
he  insisted  on  spending  practically  his  last  sou  for 
an  antique  watch  for  which  she  had  expressed  ad- 
miration. "Now  we'll  starve,"  said  she,  but  after 
reaching  home  he  happened  to  put  his  hand  in  the 
pocket  of  an  old  coat  and  drew  out  an  uncashed 
cheque  which  had  been  forgotten.  One  day  when  out 
alone  she  went  into  a  dismal-looking  pawn-shop  in 
a  part  of  the  city  that  was  not  considered  exactly 
safe.  She  was  puzzled  by  the  evident  superiority 
of  the  proprietor  to  his  surroundings,  and  when  he 
invited  her  to  follow  him,  she  went  without  hesita- 
tion back  through  winding  passages  until  they  stepped 
out  into  a  beautiful  garden,  where  sat  a  charming 
invalid  lady,  wife  of  the  pawnbroker.  It  seemed 
that  they  were  people  who  had  fallen  from  a  high 
estate,  and,  through  devotion  to  his  wife,  who  was 
helplessly  confined  to  her  chair,  he  had  for  years  kept 
the  secret  of  his  occupation  from  her,  and  she  had 
lived  in  her  garden  like  a  fair  flower,  uncontaminated 
by  the  slums  of  Paris.  In  this  shop  Mrs.  Stevenson 
bought  four  rich  mahogany  posts,  part  of  an  antique 
bedstead,  which  she  used  many  years  afterwards  as 


EUROPE  AND  THE  BRITISH  ISLES     93 

pillars  in  the  drawing-room  of  her  San  Francisco 
house. 

But  alas,  their  pleasant  jaunting  soon  came  to  an 
end,  for  Louis  had  a  relapse  which  brought  desperate 
disappointment  to  them  both,  and  of  which  she  writes 
to  his  mother:  "I  felt  compelled  to  tell  him  that  he 
must  be  prepared  for  whatever  may  happen.  Natu- 
rally the  poor  boy  yearned  for  his  mother.  I  think  it 
must  be  very  sweet  to  you  to  have  this  grown-up 
man  of  thirty  still  clinging  to  you  with  his  child  love." 

The  setback  dashed  their  spirits  so  severely  that 
his  conscientious  Scotch  parents  thought  it  their  duty 
to  lecture  them  on  the  sin  of  ingratitude  for  the  bless- 
ings that  were  still  theirs.  In  great  contrition  their 
daughter-in-law  writes: 

"I  was  just  about  to  WTite  when  a  double  letter 
from  you  and  Mr.  Tommy  came  to  hand.  When  I 
read  what  Mr.  Tommy  said  about  gratitude  I  felt 
more  conscience-stricken  than  words  can  express. 
Neither  Louis  nor  I  have  any  right  to  feel  even  an- 
noyed about  anything.  Certainly  God  has  been 
good.  I  have  seen  others,  apparently  no  more  ill 
than  Louis  was  at  one  time,  laid  in  their  graves,  and 
I  see  others,  quite  as  ill,  struggling  wearily  for  their 
daily  bread.  We  see  misery  and  wretchedness  on 
every  hand,  and  here  we  sit,  none  of  it  touching  us, 
Louis  feeling  better,  and  both  of  us  complaining  shame- 
fully because  in  the  smallest  things  the  world  does  not 
go  round  smoothly  enough  for  us.  .  .  .  I  fancy  we 
shall  start  for  Scotland  Tuesday,  but  will  travel 
slowly  on  account  of  Louis's  fatigue  and  nervous  ex- 
haustion from  the  shaking  of  the  train." 


94       LIFE   OF  MRS.   R.   L.   STEVENSON 

Edinburgh  was  reached  on  May  31,  1881,  and  a  few 
days  later,  accompanied  by  his  mother,  they  went  to 
Pitlochry,  where  they  spent  two  months  in  Kinnaird 
Cottage,  on  the  banks  of  a  lovely  river.  This  was  a 
beautiful  but  inclement  region,  and  cold  winds  and 
rain  prevailed  almost  constantly.  The  two  ladies 
never  ventured  out  without  umbrellas,  and  even  then 
usually  returned  in  a  drenched  condition.  Imprisoned 
by  the  weather,  the  sick  man  was  compelled  to  spend 
all  his  waking  time  in  the  sitting-room,  where  his  con- 
finement was  made  the  more  penitential  by  the  ab- 
sence of  books.  It  happened  that  the  only  books 
in  the  house  were  two  volumes  of  Voltaire,  and  these 
were  taken  from  the  younger  pair  one  dreary  Sunda}^ 
by  their  stem  parents  as  not  proper  "Sabba'-day" 
reading. 

Thrown  entirely  on  their  own  resources,  they  de- 
cided to  write  stories  and  read  them  to  each  other. 
These  tales,  coloured  by  the  surroundings,  were  of  a 
sombre  cast.  Here  Thrawn  Janet  was  begun.  In  a 
preface,  written  years  later,  Mrs.  Stevenson  gives  a 
grapliic  description  of  the  first  writing  of  this  gloomy 
but  powerful  story. 

"That  evening  is  as  clear  in  my  memory  as  though 
it  were  yesterday — the  dim  light  of  our  one  candle, 
with  the  acrid  smell  of  the  wick  that  we  had  forgotten 
to  snuff,  the  shadows  in  the  corners  of  the  Mang, 
laigh,  mirk  chamber,  perishing  cauld,'  the  driving 
rain  on  the  roof  close  above  our  heads,  and  the  gusts 
of  wind  that  shook  our  windows.  The  very  sound  of 
the  names,  'Murdock  Soulis,  the  Hangin'  Shaw  in 
the  beild  of  the  Black  Hill,  Balweary  in  the  vale  of 


EUROPE  AND   THE   BRITISH  ISLES     95 

Dule,'  sent  a  'cauld  grue'  along  my  bones.  By  the 
time  the  tale  was  finished  my  husband  had  fairly 
frightened  himself,  and  we  crept  down  the  stairs 
clinging  hand  in  hand  like  two  scared  children.'* 

"Weather  wet,  bad  weather,  still  wet,  afraid  to  go 
out,  pouring  rain,"  appeared  almost  constantly  in 
Mrs.  Thomas  Stevenson's  diary,  and  though  Steven- 
son, whether  inspired  by  home  scenes  or  driven  in  upon 
himself  for  relief  from  the  outer  dreariness,  did  some 
of  his  best  work  here,  it  became  clear  that  a  more 
favourable  spot  must  be  sought.  From  Pitlochry 
they  went  to  Braemar,  but  that  place  proved  to  be 
no  improvement.  Mrs.  Stevenson  writes  of  it  in  her 
preface  to  Treasure  Island : 

"It  was  a  season  of  rain  and  chill  weather  that  we 
spent  in  the  cottage  of  the  late  Miss  McGregor, 
though  the  townspeople  called  the  cold,  steady, 
penetrating  drizzle  *just  misting.*  In  Scotland  a 
fair  day  appears  to  mean  fairly  wet.  *It  is  quite  fair 
now,'  they  will  say,  when  you  can  hardly  distinguish 
the  houses  across  the  street.  Queen  Victoria,  who 
had  endeared  herself  greatly  to  the  folk  in  the  neigh- 
borhood, showed  a  true  Scotch  spirit  in  her  indiffer- 
ence to  the  weather.  Her  Majesty  was  in  the  habit 
of  driving  out  to  take  tea  in  the  open,  accompanied 
by  a  couple  of  ladies-in-waiting.  The  road  to  Bal- 
moral ran  not  far  behind  the  late  Miss  McGregor's 
cottage,  and  as  the  Queen  always  drove  in  an  open 
carriage,  with  her  tea  basket  strapped  on  behind, 
we  could  see  her  pass  very  plainly.  Our  admiration 
for  the  sturdy  old  lady  was  very  much  tempered  by 
our  sympathy  with  the  ladies-in-waiting,  with  whom 


96       LIFE  OF  MRS.  R.   L.   STEVENSON 

driving  backward  on  the  front  seat  did  not  apparently 
agree.  Their  poor  noses  were  very  red,  and  the  ex- 
pression of  their  faces  anxious,  not  to  say  cross,  as 
they  miserably  coughed  and  sneezed." 

At  Braemar  the  working  fever  continued,  and 
Treasure  Island  was  planned,  but  when  autumn 
came  they  fled  before  the  Scotch  mists,  and  once 
more  wended  their  way  to  the  frozen  Alps,  settling 
for  the  winter  in  the  Ch&let  am  Stein.  From  mist  to 
snow  was  but  a  rueful  change,  but  this  time  Louis's 
health  seemed  to  gain  greater  benefit,  and  a  reason- 
able amount  of  work  was  accomplished. 

So  the  level  current  of  their  lives  flowed  on  through 
a  rather  mild  winter,  with  an  occasional /o/i?i*  wail- 
ing about  their  chalet  as  the  "rocs  might  have  wailed 
in  the  valley  of  diamonds,"  until  one  morning  they 
heard  a  bird  sing,  and  soon  the  snow  on  the  higher 
levels  began  to  melt  and  send  the  water  with  a  rush 
down  the  sides  of  the  streets.  Almost  in  a  breath 
the  hill  slopes  about  them  turned  as  white  with  crocus 
blooms  as  they  had  been  in  their  winter  covering  of 
snow.  Into  their  hearts  something  of  the  springtime 
entered,  and  one  day  Louis  sat  singing  beside  his  wife, 
who  writes:  "I  do  not  care  for  the  music,  but  it  makes 
me  feel  so  happy  to  see  him  so  well.  "When  I  wake  in 
the  morning  I  wonder  what  it  is  that  brings  such  a 
glow  to  my  heart,  and  then  I  remember!" 

Yet  it  was  then,  as  the  flowers  began  to  bloom 
and  the  birds  to  sing,  that  many  of  those  to  whom 
they  had  become  attached  with  the  pitiful  bond  of  a 
common  affliction  broke  the  slender  cord  that  held 

*  Fahu — a  violent  south  wind  in  Switzerland. 


EUROPE  AND  THE  BRITISH  ISLES     97 

them  to  life  and  quietly  slipped  away.  Of  these  she 
writes:  "Louis  is  much  cut  up  because  a  young  man 
whom  he  liked  and  had  been  toboganning  with  has 
been  found  dead  in  his  bed.  Bertie  still  hovers  be- 
tween life  and  death.  Poor  little  Mrs.  Doney  is 
gone;  my  heart  is  sad  for  those  two  lovely  little  girls. 
In  a  place  like  this  there  are  many  depressing  things, 
but  it  is  encouraging  to  know  that  many  are  going 
away  cured." 

Their  own  case  had  gone  better,  and  Doctor  Ruedi 
had  given  them  leave  "to  live  in  France,  fifteen  miles 
as  the  crow  flies  from  the  sea,  and  if  possible  near  a 
fir  wood." 

In  April  they  left  the  Alps  and  ventured  back  to 
their  misty  island,  where  they  spent  an  unsatisfac- 
tory summer,  moving  from  place  to  place  in  a  fruit- 
less search  for  better  weather.  Several  hemorrhages 
forced  them  to  the  conclusion  that  they  must  be 
once  more  on  the  wing,  and  as  both  felt  an  uncon- 
querable repugnance  to  spending  another  winter  at 
bleak  Davos,  it  was  finally  decided  to  go  where  their 
hearts  led  them,  and  seek  a  suitable  place  in  the 
south  of  France.  As  Mrs.  Stevenson  was  too  ill 
just  then  to  travel,  the  invalid,  accompanied  by  his 
cousin,  Mr.  R.  A.  M.  Stevenson,  started  about  the 
middle  of  September,  1882,  for  Marseilles.  The 
wife's  anxiety,  however,  gave  her  little  rest,  and 
almost  before  she  was  able  to  stand  she  set  out  after 
him,  arriving  in  an  alarmed  and  fatigued  condition, 
of  which  he  wrote  to  his  mother  in  his  humourous 
way:  "The  wreck  was  towed  into  port  yesterday 
evening  at  seven  p.  m.     She  bore  the  reversed  ensign 


98       LIFE  OF  MRS.  R.   L.   STEVENSON 

in  every  feature;  the  population  of  Marseilles,  who 
were  already  vastly  exercised,  wept  when  they  be- 
held her  jury  masts  and  helpless  hull." 

To  her  mother-in-law  she  wrote  from  here:  "This 
is  a  lovely  spot,  and  I  cannot  tell  you  how  my  heart 
goes  out  to  it.  It  is  so  like  Indiana  that  it  would 
not  surprise  me  to  hear  my  father  or  mother  speak 
to  me  at  any  moment,  and  yet  it  is  not  like  home 
either.  The  houses  and  the  ships  look  foreign,  but 
the  color  of  the  sky  and  the  quality  of  the  air,  the 
corn,  the  grapes,  the  yellow  pumpkins,  the  flowers, 
and  the  trees,  are  the  same.  Everything  seems  as  it 
is  at  home,  steeped  in  sunshine." 

In  a  few  days  they  found  a  house,  the  Campagne 
Defli,  in  the  suburbs  of  St.  Marcel,  *'in  a  lovely  spot, 
among  lovely  wooded  and  cliffy  hills,"  where  they 
fondly  hoped  their  pursuing  fate  would  forget  them 
for  a  time.  Of  Campagne  Defli  she  joyfully  writes 
to  her  mother-in-law:  "Of  all  the  houses  in  the  world 
I  think  I  should  choose  this  one.  It  is  a  garden  of 
paradise,  and  I  cannot  tell  you  how  I  long  to  have 
you  here  to  enjoy  things  with  me.  It  is  such  happi- 
ness to  be  in  a  place  that  combines  the  features  of 
the  land  where  I  was  born  and  California,  where  I 
have  spent  the  best  years  of  my  life." 

She  set  eagerly  to  work  to  turn  this  charming  but 
neglected  place  into  a  pleasant  home,  directing  ser- 
vants in  the  cleaning  and  scrubbing,  hanging  curtains 
over  draughty  doors,  repapering  walls,  putting  fresh 
coverings  on  old  furniture,  planting  flowers  and  vege- 
tables in  the  garden — in  fact,  pouring  out  her  Dutch 
housekeeping  soul  in  a  thousand  and  one  ways.     The 


EUROPE   AND   THE   BRITISH   ISLES     09 

French  servants,  amazed  at  these  activities,  thought 
she  was  very  queer.  Once  when  she  was  on  a  step- 
ladder,  with  a  hammer  in  her  hand,  putting  up  some 
pictures,  she  heard  some  one  whisper  outside:  *'Elle 
estfolle.^^  As  the  two  servants  came  in  she  cried  out 
indignantly,  waving  the  hammer  for  emphasis,  "Pas 
folle!  Beaucoup  d'intelligence ! "  and  then,  losing 
her  balance,  fell  over,  step-ladder  and  all,  while  the 
servants  fled  shrieking.  To  her  mother-in-law  she 
writes:  "For  Louis's  birthday  I  found  a  violet  bloom- 
ing at  the  back  of  the  house,  and  yesterday  I  discov- 
ered in  our  reserve  a  large  magnolia  tree,  the  delight 
of  my  heart.  I  am  continually  finding  something 
new." 

Two  things  were  to  her  as  a  closed  book:  one  was 
foreign  languages  and  the  other  was  music.  She 
could  not  sing  a  note  nor  hardly  tell  one  tune  from 
another,  yet  she  liked  to  listen  to  music.  Her  speak- 
ing voice  was  low,  modulated,  and  sweet,  but  with 
few  inflections,  and  her  husband  once  compared  it 
to  the  pleasantly  monotonous  flow  of  a  running  brook 
under  ice.  As  to  languages,  although  she  never 
seemed  able  to  acquire  any  extended  knowledge  of 
the  tongue  of  any  foreign  land  in  which  she  dwelt, 
she  always  managed  in  some  mysterious  way  of  her 
own  to  communicate  freely  with  the  inhabitants.  In 
Spanish  she  only  learned  si,  yet,  supplemented  with 
much  gay  laughter  and  many  expressive  gesticula- 
tions, that  one  word  went  a  long  way.  She  writes 
amusingly  of  this  difficulty  from  Marseilles: 

"Yesterdaj'  the  servant  and  I  went  out  shopping, 
which  was  difl&cult  for  me^  but,  although  she  knows 


100     LIFE  OF  MRS.  R.  L.  STEVENSON 

no  English,  she  seems  to  understand,  as  did  the  shop- 
keepers, my  strange  lingo.  I  had  to  put  on  the  man- 
ner of  an  old  experienced  shopper  and  housekeeper, 
and  count  my  change  with  great  care,  for  it  was  im- 
portant that  I  should  impress  both  the  woman  and 
the  shop  people  with  the  notion  that  I  knew  what 
was  what.  I  have  been  in  town  all  day,  making 
arrangements  with  butchers,  buying  an  American 
stove — for  the  enormous  gaudy  French  range  is  of 
no  account  whatever — and  even  went  and  got  my 
luncheon  in  a  restaurant,  and  all  upon  my  pidgin 
French.  To  Louis's  great  amusement  I  sometimes 
address  him  in  it.  I  bought  some  cups  and  saucers 
to-day  of  a  man  who  said  *y6S*  to  all  I  said,  while 
to  all  his  remarks  I  answered  *oui.*  The  servant 
we  have  is  very  anxious  to  please  us,  and  I  have 
finally  got  her  to  the  length  of  bringing  the  knives 
to  the  table  cleaned;  she  could  hardly  believe  at  first 
that  I  was  serious  in  wanting  clean  knives  when 
there  was  no  company." 

It  was  very  pleasant  to  her  to  be  received  every- 
where in  France  with  a  warm  cordiality  on  the  ground 
of  her  being  an  American,  and  she  tells  a  little  story 
about  this  in  one  of  her  letters: 

"WTien  I  went  in  search  of  doctors  I  arrived  in 
town  at  an  hour  when  they  all  refused  to  see  me, 
being  at  luncheon.  One  man,  however,  had  not  yet 
come  in,  though  his  luncheon  was  waiting  for  him, 
so  I  waited  too  and  caught  him  in  his  own  hall.  He 
was  quite  furious  and  said  the  most  dreadful  things 
to  his  servant  because  she  had  let  me  in.  I  sat  in  a 
chair  and  waited  till  he  had  done  abusing  her,  and 


EUROPE  AND  THE  BRITISH  ISLES    101 

then  politely  explained  my  errand.  After  much 
beating  about  the  bush,  he  gave  me  the  information 
that  I  wanted,  and  then,  to  the  astonishment  of  his 
servant,  went  downstairs  with  me  and  put  me  into 
my  cab  with  the  most  impressive  politeness.  Just  as 
I  left  he  told  me  he  had  allowed  me  to  break  his  rule 
and  spoil  his  lunch  because  I  was  an  American." 

To  their  deep  disappointment,  Louis's  health 
gained  little  or  nothing  in  this  charming  place,  and 
for  a  time  a  heavy  sadness  fell  upon  his  wife,  and  in 
desperation  her  thoughts  turned  towards  the  frozen 
Alps,  which  they  both  disliked  and  where  she  had 
suffered  so  much.  She  writes:  *'I  am  sorry  to  say 
that  Louis  has  had  another  hemorrhage.  I  begin 
almost  to  think  we  had  better  go  back  to  Davos  and 
become  Symondses*  and  just  stay  there.  Symonds 
himself,  however,  has  taken  a  cold  and  the  weather 
there  has  not  been  good.  I  have  news  from  Davos 
that  the  well  people  that  we  knew  are  all  dead  and 
the  hopeless  cases  are  all  right." 

Trouble  with  drains  now  came  to  add  to  their  fear 
that  beautiful  Campagne  Defli  would  not  do  for 
their  permanent  home.  An  epidemic  broke  out  in 
St.  Marcel,  and  many  died.  Mrs.  Stevenson,  stricken 
with  fear  for  her  husband,  hurried  him  off  to  Nice, 
while  she,  armed  with  a  revolver,  remained  behind 
to  keep  guard  over  their  effects,  the  situation  of  their 
place  being  lonely,  and  reports  of  robberies  and  even 
murder  in  the  neighbourhood  having  reached  them. 

In  the  next  week  or  two  a  series  of  distressing  events 

*  Mr.  Symonds  never  dared  to  leave  Davos,  but  remained  there  until 
his  death. 


ttktvf.t?«;ttv  m^  riAT.TirnwNrTi 


102     LIFE  OF  MRS.   R.   L.   STEVENSON 

took  place  which  brought  Mrs.  Stevenson  almost  to 
the  verge  of  nervous  prostration.  The  night  before 
her  husband's  departure  a  peasant  on  the  estate  died 
of  the  prevailing  disease,  and  for  some  unknown 
reason  the  body,  much  swollen  and  disfigured,  was 
permitted  to  lie  Just  outside  the  gate  during  the 
entire  morning.  Next  in  the  chapter  of  unfortunate 
accidents  was  the  failure  to  reach  her  of  the  promised 
telegram  announcing  Louis's  safe  arrival  at  Nice. 
After  four  days'  anxious  waiting  she  decided  to  fol- 
low him,  and  her  subsequent  adventures  may  best 
be  told  in  her  own  language  as  written  to  her  mother- 
in-law: 

"The  fourth  night  I  went  to  Marseilles  and  tele- 
graphed to  the  gare  and  the  police  at  Nice.  All  the 
people  said  it  was  no  use,  and  that  it  was  plain  that 
he  had  been  taken  with  a  violent  hemorrhage  on  the 
way  and  was  now  dead  and  buried  at  some  little  sta- 
tion. They  said  all  I  could  do  was  to  pack  up  and 
go  back  to  Scotland.  All  were  very  kind  in  a  dread- 
ful way,  but  assured  me  that  I  had  much  better 
accept  what  'le  hon  Dieu*  had  sent  and  go  back  to 
Scotland  at  once.  After  much  telegraphing  back 
and  forth  I  found  that  Louis  was  at  the  Grand  Hotel 
at  Nice,  and  when  I  reached  there  he  was  calmly 
reading  in  bed.  At  St.  Marcel  and  Marseilles  every 
one  was  furious  with  me;  they  were  all  fond  of  Louis 
and  said  I  had  let  a  dying  man  go  off  alone.  You 
may  imagine  my  feelings  all  this  time !" 

As  though  all  that  went  before  had  not  been  enough, 
her  return  journey  to  St.  Marcel  was  made  so  un- 
comfortable by  a  tactless  fellow  passenger  that  she 


EUROPE  AND  THE   BRITISH  ISLES    103 

arrived  in  a  state  of  complete  exhaustion.  Of  this 
she  writes: 

"I  have  had  a  miserable  time  altogether,  and  the 
people,  meaning  to  be  so  kind,  were  really  so  dread- 
ful. There  was  a  man  on  the  train,  an  Englishman, 
who  said  such  terrible  things  to  me  about  Louis  that 
when  we  reached  Marseilles  another  Englishman* 
who  had  been  in  the  carriage  came  to  me  and  spoke 
about  it,  saying  he  had  been  so  wretched  all  the 
time.  He  insisted  on  stopping  his  journey  a  day  to 
help  me  in  my  affairs.  Here  is  a  specimen  of  the 
horrid  person's  talk:  *What  are  you  gomg  to  do  when 
your  husband  dies.^*  'I  don't  expect  him  to  die.' 
*0h,  I  know  all  about  that.  I've  heard  that  kind  of 
talk  before.  He's  done  for,  and  in  this  country 
they'll  shovel  him  underground  in  twenty-four  hours, 
almost  before  the  breath  is  out  of  his  body.  His 
mother'll  never  see  him  again.'  I  do  not  speak  but 
look  intently  out  of  the  window.  Again  he  speaks, 
leaning  forward  to  be  sure  that  I  hear  him.  'Have 
him  embalmed;  that's  the  thing;  have  you  got  money 
enough?'  Can  you  fancy  five  hours  of  this?  I  got 
out  in  the  rain  several  times  to  try  to  get  into  another 
carriage,  but  they  were  all  filled.  But  I  never  heard 
of  anybody  being  so  nice  as^Mr.  Hammond  was.  I 
think  he  was  more  proud  to  be  able  to  help  Louis 
and  those  belonging  to  him  than  to  help  the  Queen." 

Anxious  to  prevent  her  husband's  return  to  St. 
Marcel  while  conditions  were  so  unfavourable,  she 
wrote  to  him:  "Don't  you  dare  to  come  back  to  this 
home  of  *pizon*  until  you  are  really  better.     I  do 

*  Mr.  Basil  Hammond,  of  Trinity  College,  Cambridge. 


104     LIFE  OF  MRS.  R.   L.  STEVENSON 

not  see  how  you  are  to  come  back  at  all  under  the 
circumstances,  deserting  your  family  as  you  have 
done  and  being  hunted  down  and  caught  by  your 
wife.  Madame  desires  me  to  say  that  she  knows 
what  is  keeping  you  in  Nice — it  is  another  lady.  I 
told  her  that  instead  of  amusing  yourself  with  another 
lady  you  were  weeping  for  me  and  home  and  your 
Wogg.  She  was  greatly  touched  at  that  and  almost 
wept  herself  into  her  dishpan.  You  are  a  dear  crea- 
ture and  I  love  you,  but  I  am  not  going  to  say  that 
I  am  lonesome  lest  you  come  flying  back  to  this  den 
of  death.'*  In  the  meantime  he  wrote  her  letters  in 
which  he  expressed  his  own  loneliness  in  humourous 
verses,  illustrated  with  drawings,  one  of  which  runs*, 
like  this: 

"When  my  wife  is  far  from  me 
The  undersigned  feels  all  at  sea." 

R.  L.  S. 

"I  am  as  good  as  deaf 
When  separate  from  F. 

I  am  far  from  gay 
When  separate  from  A. 

I  loathe  the  ways  of  men 
When  separate  from  N. 

Life  is  a  murky  den 
When  separate  from  N. 

My  sorrow  rages  high 
When  separate  from  Y. 


EUROPE  AND   THE  BRITISH  ISLES    105 

And  all  things  seem  uncanny 
When  separate  from  Fanny," 

"Where  is  my  wife?     Where  is  my  Wogg? 
I  am  alone,  and  life's  a  bog." 

All  his  wife's  expostulations,  however,  were  of  no 
avail,  and,  mucii  to  her  annoyance,  it  was  not  long 
before  he  appeared  at  Campagne  Defli,  where  she 
was  busy  packing  up  their  effects  for  another  flitting. 
She  writes  to  her  mother-in-law: 

"I  don't  wonder  you  ask  what  Louis  is  doing  in 
Marseilles.  He  became  filled  with  the  idea  that  it 
was  shirking  to  leave  me  here  to  do  all  the  work. 
He  was  a  good  deal  hurt,  poor  boy,  because  I  wasn't 
pleased.  Wasn't  it  delightful  about  the  article  in 
the  Century  f*  The  person  was  evidently  writing  in 
such  an  ecstasy  of  joy  at  having  found  out  Louis.  I 
am  so  pleased  that  it  was  in  the  Century ,  for  every 
friend  and  relation  I  have  in  the  world  will  read  it. 
I  suppose  you  are  even  prouder  of  Louis  than  I  am, 
for  he  is  only  mine  accidentally,  and  he  is  yours  by 
birth  and  blood.  Two  or  three  times  last  night  I 
woke  up  just  from  pure  pleasure  to  think  of  all  the 
people  I  know  reading  about  Louis.  .  .  .  He  is  in- 
credibly better,  and  I  suppose  will  just  have  to  stay 
in  Marseilles  until  I  get  done  with  things,  for  nothing 
will  keep  him  away  from  me  more  than  a  week.  It 
is  so  surprising,  for  I  had  never  thought  of  Louis  as  a 
real  domestic  man,  but  now  I  find  that  all  he  wanted 
was  a  house  of  his  own.     Just  the  little  time  that  we 

*  Aneditorial  review  of  New  Arabian  Nights  in  the  Century  Magazine  of 
February,  1883. 


106     LIFE  OF  MRS.   R.   L.   STEVENSON 

have  been  here  has  sufficed  for  him  to  form  a  quite 
passionate  attachment  for  everything  connected  with 
the  place,  and  it  was  like  pulling  up  roots  to  get  him 
away.  I  am  quite  bewildered  with  all  the  letters  I 
have  to  write  and  all  the  things  I  have  to  do.  For 
the  present  I  think  we  shall  have  to  cling  to  the  little 
circle  of  country  around  Nice,  so  when  you  come  it 
must  be  somewhere  there." 

After  some  search  they  finally  decided  upon  Hyeres, 
and  by  the  latter  part  of  March  had  once  more  hope- 
fully set  up  their  household  gods  in  a  little  cottage, 
the  Chalet  la  Solitude,  which  clung  to  a  low  cliff 
almost  at  the  entrance  of  the  town.  This  house  had 
been  a  model  Swiss  chalet  at  the  Paris  Exposition  of 
1878,  and  had  been  removed  and  again  erected  at 
Hyeres,  where,  amid  its  French  neighboiu's,  it  was  an 
incongruous  and  alien  object.  Mrs.  Stevenson  writes 
of  it:  "It  is  the  smallest  doll  house  I  ever  saw,  but 
has  everything  in  it  to  make  it  comfortable,  and  the 
garden  is  magnificent.  The  wild  flowers  are  lovely, 
and  the  walks,  all  so  close  at  hand,  most  enchanting." 

In  the  garden  grew  old  grey  olive-trees,  and  in 
them  nightingales  nested  and  sang.  On  the  rocky 
crags  above  stood  the  ruins  of  an  ancient  Saracen 
castle,  and  before  them  lay  the  sea — indeed  a  "most 
sweet  corner  of  the  universe."  Not  far  away  were 
the  rose  farms  of  Toulon,  of  which  Mrs.  Stevenson 
writes: 

"I  shall  never  forget  the  day  my  husband  and  I 
drove  through  lanes  of  roses  from  which  the  attar  of 
commerce  is  made.  On  either  side  of  us  the  rose 
hedges  were  in  full  bloom;  the  scent,  mingled  with 


EUROPE  AND  THE  BRITISH  ISLES    107 

the  fragrance  of  innumerable  violets,  was  truly  in- 
toxicating. When  we  ahghted  at  a  place  dappled 
with  sunlight  that  filtered  through  the  trees,  and 
cooled  by  a  spouting  fountain  where  girls  in  colored 
gowns  laughed  and  chattered  as  they  plied  their 
trade  of  lace-making,  we  felt  that  our  lines  had  in- 
deed fallen  in  pleasant  places." 

In  this  charming  spot  it  seemed  for  a  time  that 
their  pursuing  fate  had  forgotten  them,  and  for  the 
greater  part  of  a  year  happiness  sat  by  their  fireside. 
Louis  always  referred  to  this  time  as  the  happiest 
period  of  his  life,  and  in  a  letter  to  his  old  friend  in 
California,  Jules  Simoneau,  he  says:  *'Now  I  am  in 
clover,  only  my  health  a  mere  ruined  temple;  the  ivy 
grows  along  its  shattered  front,  otherwise  I  have  no 
wish  that  is  not  fulfilled;  a  beautiful  large  garden,  a 
fine  view  of  plain,  sea,  and  mountain;  a  wife  that 
suits  me  down  to  the  ground,  and  a  barrel  of  good 
Beaujolais." 

Under  these  happy  conditions  much  work  was 
accomplished,  and,  to  the  great  pride  and  satisfac- 
tion of  both  husband  and  wife,  they  were  at  last  able 
to  live  upon  his  earnings.  Their  almost  idyllic  life 
here  is  described  by  Mrs.  Stevenson: 

"My  husband  was  then  engaged  on  Prince  Otto, 
begun  so  long  ago  in  the  little  rose-covered  cottage 
in  Oakland,  California.  Our  life  in  the  chalet  was 
of  the  utmost  simplicity,  and  with  the  help  of  one 
untrained  maid  I  did  the  cooking  myself.  The 
kitchen  was  so  narrow  that  I  was  in  continual  danger 
of  being  scorched  by  the  range  on  one  side,  and  at 
the  same  time  impaled  by  the  saucepan  hooks  on 


108     LIFE  OF  IVmS.  R.  L.   STEVENSON 

the  other,  and  when  we  had  a  guest  at  dinner  our 
maid  had  to  pass  in  the  dishes  over  our  heads,  as 
our  chairs  touched  the  walls  of  the  dining-room, 
leaving  her  no  passageway.  The  markets  of  Hyeres 
were  well  supplied,  and  the  wine  both  good  and 
cheap,  so  we  were  able,  for  the  first  time,  to  live  com- 
fortably within  our  limited  income. 

"My  husband  usually  wrote  from  the  early  morn- 
ing until  noon,  while  my  household  duties  occupied 
the  same  time.  In  the  afternoon  the  work  of  the 
morning  was  read  aloud,  and  we  talked  it  over,  criti- 
cising and  suggesting  improvements.  This  finished, 
we  walked  in  our  garden,  listened  to  the  birds,  and 
looked  at  our  trees  and  flowers;  or,  accompanied  by 
our  Scotch  terrier,  wandered  up  the  hill  to  the  ruins 
of  the  castle.  After  dinner  we  talked  or  read  aloud, 
and  on  rare  occasions  visited  Mr.  Powell  or  received 
a  visit  from  him.  The  chalet  was  well  named,  as 
far  as  we  were  concerned,  for  it  was  almost  a  solitude 
d  deux,  but  the  days  slipped  by  with  amazing  celerity." 

Their  mutual  affection  and  their  dependence  upon 
each  other  grew  as  the  years  went  by,  and  in  1884  he 
^Tote  to  his  mother:  "My  wife  is  in  pretty  good 
feather;  I  love  her  better  than  ever  and  admire  her 
more;  and  I  cannot  think  what  I  have  done  to  deserve 
so  good  a  gift.  This  sudden  remark  came  out  of  my 
pen;  it  is  not  like  me;  but  in  case  you  did  not  know,  I 
may  as  well  tell  you,  that  my  marriage  has  been  the 
most  successful  in  the  world.  .  .  .  She  is  everything 
to  me;  wife,  brother,  sister,  daughter,  and  dear  com- 
panion; and  I  would  not  change  to  get  a  goddess  or  a 
saint.     So  far,  after  four  years  of  matrimony." 


EUROPE  AND  THE  BRITISH  ISLES    109 

At  another  time  he  wrote:  "As  for  my  wife,  that 
was  the  best  investment  ever  made  by  man;  but  'in 
our  branch  of  the  family'  we  seem  to  marry  well. 
Here  am  I,  who  you  were  persuaded  was  bom  to  dis- 
grace you,  no  very  burning  discredit  when  all  is  said 
and  done;  here  am  I  married,  and  the  marriage  rec- 
ognized to  be  a  blessing  of  the  first  water — ^Al  at 
Lloyds.'* 

As  Christmas,  1883,  approached,  their  content 
seemed  to  reach  its  highest  tide,  and  out  of  a  full 
heart  Mrs.  Stevenson  wrote  to  her  mother-in-law: 

"What  a  Christmas  of  thanksgiving  this  should  be 
for  us  all,  with  Louis  so  well,  his  father  so  well,  every- 
thing pointing  to  comfort  and  happiness.  Louis  is 
making  such  a  success  with  his  work,  and  doing  bet- 
ter work  every  day.  Dear  mother  and  father  of  my 
beloved  husband,  I  send  you  Christmas  greetings 
from  my  heart  of  hearts.  I  mean  to  have  a  Merry 
Christmas  and  be  as  glad  and  thankful  as  possible  for 
all  the  undeserved  mercies  and  blessings  that  have 
been  showered  upon  me." 

They  snatched  at  these  moments  of  respite  from 
eating  care  with  an  almost  pathetic  eagerness,  and 
set  to  work  once  more  to  make  a  home  in  their  doll's 
house.  Mrs.  Stevenson  had  what  she  called  a  "paint- 
ing fever,"  and  devised  a  scheme  of  Japanese  decora- 
tions for  the  doors  of  the  chalet  which  her  husband 
thought  might  be  made  to  produce  a  lot  of  money  if 
they  were  nearer  London.  One  of  the  panels  had  a 
woman  yawning  over  a  fire  in  the  early  morning,  and 
the  hypnotic  effect  of  it  kept  the  family  and  their 
guests  yawning  their  heads  off,  so  that  Mrs.  Steven- 


110     LIFE  OF  MRS.  R.  L.  STEVENSON 

son  decided  the  sleepy  lady  would  be  better  for  a 
bedroom. 

Among  their  acquaintances  here  was  a  certain 
doctor  who  was  such  an  inveterate  optimist  that  he 
could  have  given  lessons  even  to  Louis  Stevenson 
himself.  She  says  of  him:  "This  doctor  has  bought 
a  piece  of  land  here  upon  which  he  expects  to  build  a 
house  and  settle  down  when  he  retires  from  practice. 
How  old  do  you  suppose  he  will  be  when  he  stops 
work  and  settles  down  to  enjoy  life.'^  Only  ninety- 
one,  and  subject  to  hemorrhages  and  other  things ! 
It  seems  to  be  the  received  opinion  that  when  one 
passes  the  age  of  sixty-three  years  life  takes  a  new 
start  and  one  may  live  to  almost  any  age.  As  to 
Louis,  I  verily  believe  he  is  going  to  be  like  the  old 
doctor,  only  a  little  better  looking,  I  hope." 

Notwithstanding  the  cramped  quarters  in  the  little 
chalet  their  solitude  was  broken  now  and  then  by  a 
visitor.  Thither  went  at  various  times  "Bob"  Ste- 
venson, Sir  Sidney  Colvin,  Mr.  Charles  Baxter,  Mr. 
W.  E.  Henley,  and  Miss  Ferrier.  The  pleasurable 
excitement  of  this  societj^  to  which  he  had  been  so 
long  a  stranger,  raised  Mr.  Stevenson's  spirits  to 
such  an  extent  that  he  rashly  proposed  an  expedition 
to  Nice,  where  he  took  cold,  developed  pneumonia, 
was  critically  ill  for  weeks,  and  returned  to  Hyeres 
still  in  a  very  low  condition.  This  was  one  of  the 
most  harrowing  periods  of  Mrs.  Stevenson's  life,  and 
she  tells  of  its  distresses  in  a  letter  written  to  her 
mother-in-law  in  January,  1884: 

"If  I  write  like  a  mad  creature  do  not  be  surprised, 
for  I  have  had  a  period  of  aw^ul  wretchedness.     Louis 


EUROPE   AND   THE   BRITISH   ISLES     lU 

fell  ill,  and  when  the  doctor  came  he  beckoned  to 
me  to  follow  him,  and  then  told  me  Louis  was  dying 
and  could  not  be  kept  alive  until  you  could  get  here. 
That  was  yesterday.  I  watched  every  breath  he 
drew  all  night  in  what  sickening  apprehension  you 
may  guess.  To-day  another  doctor,  Dr.  Drum- 
mond,  was  called  in,  and  says  that  Louis  may  well 
live  to  be  seventy,  only  he  must  not  travel  about. 
He  is  steadily  better  and  is  reading  a  newspaper  in 
bed  at  this  moment.  I,  who  have  not  slept  a  wink 
for  two  nights,  am  pretending  to  be  the  gayest  of  the 
gay,  but  in  reality  I  am  a  total  wreck,  although  I  am 
almost  off  my  head  with  relief  and  joy." 

As  soon  as  the  patient  had  sufficiently  recovered 
they  returned  to  Hyeres,  but  there  new  troubles 
awaited  them.  His  eyes  became  so  severely  affected 
by  a  contagious  ophthalmia  then  prevailing  in  the 
neighbourhood  that  he  had  to  give  up  using  them  for 
several  weeks,  sciatic  rheumatism  confined  him  to 
bed,  and  his  right  arm  was  bound  to  his  side  to  pre- 
vent hemorrhage.  In  the  midst  of  all  these  afflictions 
he  refused  to  be  cast  down  and  insisted  that  every- 
thing was  for  the  best,  for  he  was  now  forced  to  take 
a  much-needed  rest  which  he  would  not  otherwise 
have  taken.  On  March  25,  1884,  she  writes  to  his 
mother: 

"I  am  not  very  good  at  letter  writing  since  I  have 
been  doing  blind  man's  eyes,  but  here  is  a  note  to 
say  that  the  blind  man  is  doing  very  well,  and  I  con- 
sider the  blindness  a  real  providence.  Since  he  has 
been  unable  to  read  or  do  anything  at  all  a  wonderful 
change  has  come  over  his  health,  spirits,  and  temper. 


112     LIFE   OF  INIRS.   R.   L.   STEVENSON 

all  for  the  better.  ...  I  wish  you  could  see  him 
with  his  eye  tied  up  and  singing  away  like  mad;  truly 
like  mad,  as  there  is  neither  time  nor  method  in  it, 
only  a  large  voice.  I  am  horribly  busy,  for  I  have 
to  write  for  Louis  from  dictation,  answer  all  his  let- 
ters, as  well  as  my  own,  keep  house,  entertain  visi- 
tors, and  do  a  good  deal  of  the  cooking.  Our  Wogg 
is  an  invalid,  having  got  himself  badly  mangled  in 
several  fights,  the  maid  is  ill  with  symptoms  of  pleu- 
risy, and  altogether  we  are  a  forlorn  household,  but 
with  all  this  Louis  and  I  are  in  high  spirits.  He  says 
it  is  wonderful  how  well  one  gets  along  without  read- 
ing.    He  could  never  have  believed  it." 

Perhaps  partly  for  the  purpose  of  getting  her  out 
for  a  little  fresh  air,  he  proposed  that  she  should  go 
for  an  hour's  walk  every  day,  and  during  her  absence 
invent  a  story  to  be  told  on  her  return.  It  was  to  be 
a  sort  of  Arabian  Nights'  Entertainment,  with  him  as 
the  Sultan  and  her  as  Scheherazade.  The  Dynamiter 
was  suggested  by  certain  attempted  outrages  in  Lon- 
don which  had  all  turned  out  to  be  fiascos.  She  began 
with  the  Mormon  tale  and  followed  with  the  others, 
one  for  each  afternoon.  Afterwards,  when  a  lean 
time  came  at  Bournemouth  and  money  was  badly 
needed,  these  stories,  temporarily  forgotten,  were 
recalled,  written,  and  published  as  the  second  volume 
of  the  New  Arabian  Nights  series.  As  there  was  only 
enough  for  a  thin  book  he  wrote  another.  The  Explo- 
sive Bomb,  to  fill  up.  It  came  out  at  first  under  the 
title  of  Mo7'e  New  Arabian  Nights,  but  afterwards 
appeared  as  The  Dynamiter.  Of  the  stories  in  this 
second  series  only  one.  The  Explosive  Bomhy  was  en- 


EUROPE  AND   THE  BRITISH  ISLES     1V3 

tirely  the  work  of  Mr.  Stevenson's  own  hand,  all  the 
others  being  done  in  collaboration  with  his  wife. 
The  Dynamiter  did  double  service,  as  his  wife  said, 
for  first  it  amused  his  tedious  hours  of  illness  at 
Hyeres,  and  afterwards  it  replenished  his  purse  in  a 
time  of  need. 

Their  peaceful  life  in  the  chalet  was  now  broken 
by  a  new  and  most  unexpected  interruption.  Mrs. 
Stevenson  writes  in  her  preface  to  The  Dynamiter: 

"So  quiet  and  secluded  was  our  life  here  that  we 
heard  almost  nothing  of  the  outside  world  except 
through  an  occasional  English  correspondent.  I  re- 
member before  we  knew  that  cholera  was  raging  in 
Toulon,  only  some  three  miles  away,  how  we  watched 
a  cloud  gathering  over  the  town,  where  it  hung  heavy 
and  lowering,  day  after  day.  We  felt  that  it  was 
somehow  ominous,  and  were  vaguely  depressed.  We 
were  told  afterwards  that  at  that  very  time  great 
fires  were  burning  in  the  streets  of  Toulon  by  order 
of  the  mayor,  and  that  the  people  gathered  at  night 
around  these  fires  capering  fantastically  in  a  pagan 
dance,  resurrected  from  the  dark  ages  no  one  knew 
by  whom  or  how." 

To  add  to  the  alarm  caused  by  the  outbreak  of  the 
cholera,  in  the  first  week  in  May  IVIr.  Stevenson  had 
a  violent  hemorrhage.  "It  occurred  late  at  night, 
but  in  a  moment  his  wife  was  at  his  side.  Being 
choked  by  the  flow  of  blood  and  unable  to  speak,  he 
made  signs  to  her  for  a  paper  and  pencil,  and  wrote 
in  a  firm  neat  hand,  *  Don't  be  frightened.  If  this 
is  death  it  is  an  easy  one.'  Mrs.  Stevenson  had  al- 
ways a  small  bottle  of  ergotin  and  a  minim  glass  in 


114     LIFE  OF  MRS.   R.  L.   STEVENSON 

readiness;  these  she  brought  in  order  to  adminigter 
the  prescribed  quantity.  Seeing  her  alarm  he  took 
bottle  and  glass  away  from  her,  measured  the  dose 
correctly  with  a  perfectly  steady  hand,  and  gave  the 
things  back  to  her  with  a  reassm*ing  smile."*  It  was 
said  that  if  his  wife  had  not  had  everything  ready 
and  known  exactly  what  to  do  he  could  not  have 
lived.  The  clergyman  came  to  pray  with  the  sup- 
posed dying  man,  but,  having  been  warned  against 
the  least  excitement,  she  refused  him  admittance. 
In  defense  of  her  action  she  says:  "I  know  Louis,  and 
I  know  that  he  tries  always  to  so  live  that  he  may 
be  ready  to  die."  When  IMr.  Stevenson  heard  that 
a  clergyman  had  come  to  pray  for  him  as  a  man  in 
danger  of  dj-ing,  he  said:  "Tell  him  to  come  and  see 
me  when  I  am  better  and  I  will  offer  up  a  prayer  for 
a  clergyman  in  danger  of  living."  In  a  few  days  he 
rallied  once  more,  but  it  was  now  realized  that  chronic 
invalidism  was  to  be  his  portion  for  the  rest  of  his 
days,  and  his  wife  wrote  to  her  mother-in-law: 

*'The  doctor  says  'keep  him  alive  until  he  is  forty, 
and  then,  though  a  winged  bird,  he  may  live  to 
ninety.'  But  between  now  and  forty  he  must  live 
as  though  he  were  walking  on  eggs.  For  the  next 
two  years,  no  matter  how  well  he  feels,  he  must  live 
the  life  of  an  invalid.  He  must  be  perfectly  tranquil, 
trouble  about  nothing,  have  no  shocks  or  surprises, 
not  even  pleasant  ones,  must  not  eat  too  much,  talk 
very  little,  and  walk  no  more  than  can  be  helped. 
He  must  never  be  crossed,  for  anger,  going  upstairs, 
and  walking  are  the  worst  things  for  him.  .  .  .  Yet 
*  From  The  Life  of  Robert  Louis  Stevenson,  by  Graham  Balfour. 


EUROPE  AND  THE   BRITISH   ISLES     115 

lie  is  very  cheerful  and  has  been  all  along.  He  is 
never  frightened.'* 

Driven  from  Hyeres  by  the  cholera,  they  sought  a 
temporary  refuge  at  an  enchanting  little  watering- 
place  near  Clermont-Ferrand  called  Roj'^at,  in  whose 
healing  springs  Caesar  himself  had  once  bathed.  The 
surroundings,  of  wooded  ravines  and  cliffs  and  num- 
berless waterfalls,  were  charming,  and  in  the  centre 
of  the  town  stood  an  ancient  cathedral,  whose  former 
use  as  a  fortress  was  still  proclaimed  by  the  loopholes 
in  its  walls  and  the  hooded  projections  on  its  towers. 

In  this  romantic  place  they  spent  the  summer  in 
the  company  of  his  parents,  who  came  to  visit  them, 
but  the  joy  of  this  meeting  was  tempered  by  the  fail- 
ing health  and  spirits  of  the  father,  who  was  now 
only  able  to  keep  up  a  semblance  of  cheerfulness  in 
the  presence  of  his  son. 

At  the  end  of  the  summer  of  1884  they  returned  to 
Hyeres,  but  the  prospect  of  a  permanent  recovery 
there  seemed  so  slight  that  it  was  finally  decided  to 
go  to  England  and  seek  medical  advice.  On  the  1st 
of  July  they  reached  England,  and  shortly  afterwards 
went  to  London  to  consult  Sir  Andrew  Clark  and 
other  eminent  physicians.  Mrs.  Stevenson  writes 
from  there:  "I  suppose  it  comes  from  being  so  long  a 
recluse,  but  seeing  the  few  people  I  have  seen  has 
quite  shattered  my  nerves,  so  that  I  tremble  and  can 
hardly  speak.  Louis,  on  the  contrary,  is  quite  calm, 
and  is  at  this  moment,  after  a  hearty  meal,  resting 
quietly  in  his  bed." 

Snatching  at  a  half-hearted  permission  given  by 
some  of  the  doctors  to  remain  in  England,  their  deci- 


116     LIFE  OF  MRS.  R.  L.   STEVENSON 

sion  being  assisted  by  the  desire  to  be  near  his  father, 
whose  health  was  rapidly  failing,  they  went  to  Bourne- 
mouth for  a  trial  of  its  climate  and  conditions.  Noth- 
ing untoward  having  occurred  by  the  end  of  January, 
the  elder  Stevenson  purchased  a  house  there  as  a 
present  to  his  daughter-in-law.  Both  the  wanderers 
were  filled  with  inexpressible  joy  at  the  prospect  of 
living  under  their  own  rooftree,  and  at  once  plunged 
with  ardour  into  the  business  of  furnishing  and  gar- 
dening. The  first  thing  was  to  change  the  name  of 
the  place  to  Skerryvore,  in  honoiu*  of  the  best  known 
of  the  lighthouses  built  by  the  Stevenson  family,  the 
name  being  partly  suggested  by  the  fact  that  a  dis- 
tant view  of  the  sea  was  to  be  had  from  the  upper 
windows. 

Skerryvore  was  a  pleasant,  ivy-covered  brick  cot- 
tage, surrounded  by  a  half -acre  of  garden,  which  has 
been  so  delightfully  described  by  William  Archer  in 
the  Critic  of  November  5,  1887,  that  one  can  do  no 
better  than  quote  his  words: 

"Though  only  a  few  paces  from  the  public  road,  it 
is  thoroughly  secluded.  Its  front  faces  southward 
(away  from  the  road)  and  overlooks  a  lawn, 

'Linnet  haunted  garden  ground, 
Where  still  the  esculents  abound.* 

"The  demesne  extends  over  the  edge,  and  almost  to 
the  bottom  of  the  Chine;  and  here,  amid  laurel  and 
rhododendron,  broom  and  gorse,  the  garden  merges 
into  a  network  of  paths  and  stairways,  with  tempting 
seats  and  unexpected  arbors  at  every  turn.  This 
seductive  little  labyrinth  is  of  Mrs.  Stevenson's  own 


EUROPE  AND  THE  BRITISH  ISLES    117 

designing.  She  makes  the  whole  garden  her  special 
charge  and  delight,  but  this  particular  corner  of  it 
is  as  a  kingdom  conquered,  where  to  reign.  Mrs. 
Stevenson,  the  tutelary  genius  of  Skerryvore,  is  a 
woman  of  small  physical  stature  but  surely  of  heroic 
mould.  Her  features  are  clear  cut  and  delicate,  but 
marked  by  unmistakable  strength  of  character;  her 
hair  is  an  unglossy  black,  and  her  complexion  darker 
than  one  would  expect  in  a  woman  of  Dutch  extrac- 
tion. .  .  .  Her  personality,  no  less  than  her  hus- 
band's, impresses  itself  potently  on  all  who  have  the 
good  fortune  to  be  welcomed  at  Skerryvore.'* 

Writing  to  her  mother-in-law  from  Bournemouth, 
she  says: 

"I  have  just  been  going  the  rounds  of  my  garden, 
and  have  brought  in  as  a  sentimental  reminder  of  you 
the  first  marguerite,*  which  I  will  enclose  in  this  let- 
ter. The  weather  is  like  paradise,  the  sun  is  shining, 
the  birds  are  singing,  and  Louis  is  walking  up  and 
down  in  front  of  the  house  with  a  red  umbrella  over 
his  head,  enjoying  the  day.  ...  I  could  only  ask 
one  thing  more  to  have  the  most  perfect  life  that  any 
woman  could  have,  and  that  is,  of  course,  good  health 
for  Louis.  ...  I  should  be  perfectly  appalled  if  I 
were  asked  to  exchange  his  faults  for  other  people's 
virtues." 

Three  years  were  spent  at  this  pleasant  place,  and 
though  Louis's  health  was  never  good,  and  he  lived 
there,  as  he  afterwards  wrote,  "like  a  pallid  weevil 
in  a  biscuit,"  a  great  deal  was  accomplished  in  liter- 
ary work  by  both  husband  and  wife.     There  they 

*  The  elder  lady's  name  was  Margaret. 


118     LIFE  OF  MRS.   R.   L.   STEVENSON 

put  together  the  stories  in  The  Dynamiter^  which,  as 
will  be  remembered,  Mrs.  Stevenson  had  made  up 
to  while  away  the  hours  of  illness  at  Hy^res.  When 
the  book  came  out  little  credit  was  given  her  by  the 
book  reviewers  for  her  part  in  it,  a  neglect  which 
caused  her  some  mortification.  Writing  to  her 
mother-in-law,  she  says:  "I  thought  in  the  beginning 
that  I  shouldn't  mind  being  Louis's  scapegoat,  but 
it  is  ratlier  hard  to  be  treated  like  a  comma,  and  a 
superfluous  one  at  that.  And  then  in  one  paper,  the 
only  one  in  which  I  am  mentioned,  the  critic  refers  to 
me  as  'undoubtedly  Mr.  Stevenson's  sister.'  Why, 
pray  ^  Surely  there  can  be  nothing  in  the  book  that 
points  to  a  sister  in  particular." 

The  morning  after  her  husband  had  the  dream  that 
suggested  Dr.  Jekyll  and  Mr.  Hyde,  he  came  with  a 
radiant  countenance  to  show  his  work  to  his  wife, 
saying  it  was  the  best  thing  he  had  ever  done.  She 
read  it  and  thought  it  the  worst,  and  thereupon  fell 
into  a  state  of  deep  gloom,  for  she  couldn't  let  it  go, 
and  yet  it  seemed  cruel  to  tell  him  so,  and  between 
the  two  horns  of  the  dilemma  she  made  herself  quite 
ill.  At  last,  by  his  request  and  according  to  their 
custom,  she  put  her  objections  to  it,  as  it  then  stood, 
in  writing,  complaining  that  he  had  treated  it  simply 
as  a  story,  whereas  it  was  in  reality  an  allegory. 
After  reading  her  paper  and  seeing  the  justice  of  her 
criticism,  with  characteristic  impulsiveness  he  imme- 
diately burned  his  first  draft  and  rewrote  it  from  a 
different  point  of  view.  She  was  appalled  when  he 
burned  it,  for  she  had  only  wanted  him  to  change  it, 
but  he  was  afraid  of  being  influenced  by  the  first 


EUROPE  AND  THE  BRITISH  ISLES     119 

writing  and  preferred  to  start  anew,  with  a  clean 
slate. 

Their  discussions  over  the  work  were  sometimes 
hot  and  protracted,  for  neither  was  disposed  to  yield 
without  a  struggle.  Speaking  of  this  in  a  letter  to 
his  mother,  she  says:  *'If  I  die  before  Louis,  my  last 
earnest  request  is  that  he  shall  publish  nothing  with- 
out his  father's  approval.  I  know  that  means  little 
short  of  destruction  to  both  of  them,  but  there  will 
be  no  one  else.  The  field  is  always  covered  with  my 
dead  and  wounded,  and  often  I  am  forced  to  a  com- 
promise, but  still  I  make  a  verj^  good  fight."  In  this 
battle  of  wits  they  found  intense  enjoyment,  and  it 
was,  in  fact,  an  intellectual  comradeship  that  few 
writers  have  been  fortunate  enough  to  enjoy  in  their 
own  households. 

While  at  Bournemouth  an  occasional  respite  from 
illness  enabled  them  to  enjoy  the  society  of  friends 
in  a  limited  way — among  them  their  neighbours.  Sir 
Percy  and  Lady  Shelley,  Sir  Henry  Taylor  and  his 
daughters,  and  many  people  of  note  who  came  down 
from  London  to  see  them.  The  incidents  of  these 
friendships  have  been  fully  dealt  with  in  Balfour's 
Life  of  Robert  Louis  Stevenson,  and  need  not  be  treated 
extensively  here.  One  of  their  neighbours,  Miss  Ade- 
laide Boodle,  who  was  given  the  jocose  title  of  "game- 
keeper" when  she  assumed  charge  of  Skerryvore  after 
their  departure  from  England,  writes  thus  of  her 
attachment  to  Mrs.  Stevenson:  "Among  all  her 
friends  here  there  was  never  one  who  loved  her  more 
whole-heartedly  than  her  'gamekeeper,'  to  whom  in 
after  years  she  gave  the  sweet  pet  name  of  the  'little 


120     LIFE  OF  MRS.  R.  L.  STEVENSON 

brown  deer/  From  the  first  day  that  we  met  at 
Skerryvore  she  took  entire  possession  of  my  heart, 
and  there  she  will  forever  bear  sway.  There  is  an 
old  gardener  here,  too,  who  was  her  devoted  slave  at 
Skerryvore.  Of  course  she  never  trusted  him  the 
length  of  her  little  finger,  but  she  used  him  as  extra 
hands  and  feet.  Her  parting  charge  to  me — ^given 
in  his  presence — has  never  been  forgotten  by  either 
of  us:  *  Remember,  child,  if  you  ever  see  Philips  ap- 
proach my  creepers  with  a  pruning  knife  you  are  to 
snatch  it  from  his  hand  and  plunge  it  into  his  heart !  "* 
Among  the  visitors  was  John  Sargent,  the  American 
painter,  who  came  to  paint  IVIr.  Stevenson's  portrait 
— a  picture  which  was  regarded  as  too  peculiar  to  be 
satisfactory.  When  Sargent  painted  it  he  put  Mrs. 
Stevenson,  dressed  in  an  East  Indian  costume,  in  the 
backgrgund,  intending  it,  not  for  a  portrait,  but 
merely  as  a  bit  of  colour  to  balance  the  picture.  It 
was  a  part  of  the  costume  that  her  feet  should  be 
bare,  and  this  fact  gave  rise  to  a  fantastic  story  that 
has  often  gone  the  rounds  in  print,  and  will  probably 
continue  to  do  so  till  the  end  of  time,  that  when  she 
first  came  to  London  she  was  such  a  savage  that  she 
went  to  dinners  and  evening  entertainments  barefoot. 
This  was  but  one  of  the  many  strange  tales  that  ap- 
peared from  time  to  time  concerning  her,  all  of  which 
she  refused  to  contradict,  no  matter  how  false  or 
malicious  they  might  be,  for  she  felt  that  the  name 
she  bore  w^as  not  to  be  lowered  by  appearing  in  stupid 
or  ridiculous  controversy;  for  that  reason  she  would 
ne\^r  see  newspaper  reporters,  and  though  many  so- 
called  "interviews"  with  her  have  been  printed,  none 


EUROPE  AND  THE  BRITISH  ISLES    121 

of  them  are  genuine.  She  was  misrepresented  by  the 
press  in  many  ways,  and  even  wantonly  attacked,  but 
refused  to  break  her  rule  imder  any  circumstances. 
During  the  last  days  of  Jules  Simoneau,  of  Monterey, 
a  statement  appeared  in  the  papers  to  the  effect  that 
he  was  being  permitted  to  suffer  and  die  in  want,  and 
although  it  was  perfectly  well  known  to  her  friends 
and  many  other  persons  that  she  had  supported  him 
in  comfort  for  years,  she  would  not  make  any  contra- 
diction in  the  pubhc  press. 

One  of  the  interesting  people  she  met  while  in  Eng- 
land was  Prince  Kropotkin,  the  noted  Russian  revo- 
lutionist. Mrs.  Stevenson,  believing  that  Kropotkin 
was  concerned  in  the  blowing  up  of  a  French  village 
while  a  country  fair  was  in  progress,  resulting  in  the 
killing  of  a  number  of  innocent  people,  prevented  her 
husband  from  signing  a  petition  that  was  instituted 
for  his  release  from  the  French  prison  where  he  was 
confined.  When  he  was  finally  freed  and  went  to 
England,  at  the  urgent  request  of  Henry  James  she 
consented  to  meet  him,  and  found  him  to  be  a  most 
charming  person.  He  assured  her  that,  judging  from 
the  expression  of  her  eyes,  she  was  bom  to  be  a  nihi- 
list, and  when  she  indignantly  denied  this,  still  in- 
sisted that  she  should  learn  to  play  the  game  of  soli- 
taire, for  if  she  should  ever  have  to  go  to  prison  it 
might  save  her  life  and  reason,  as  it  had  his.  She 
consented,  not  with  the  anticipation  of  spending  any 
portion  of  her  life  behind  prison-bars,  but  in  order  to 
use  the  game  to  amuse  her  husband  during  his  long 
periods  of  forced  and  speechless  seclusion.  She  would 
sit  by  his  bedside  and  play  her  game,  and  he  took 


122     LIFE  OF  MRS.   R.   L.   STEVENSON 

great  pleasure  in  watching  it  and  pointing  at  the 
cards  that  he  thought  she  ought  to  play.  In  later 
years,  when  he  had  gone  to  the  other  world,  and  the 
days  grew  long  and  lonely,  this  game  of  solitaire,  so 
strangely  acquired  from  the  bearded  Russian,  became 
a  solace. 

But  of  all  the  guests  that  came  to  Skerryvore,  the 
best  loved  and  most  welcome  was  Mrs.  Stevenson's 
fellow  countryman,  Henry  James,  who  often  ran 
down  to  see  them.  In  the  house  there  was  a  certain 
large  blue  chair  in  which  he  liked  to  sit.  It  was  called 
the  "Henry  James"  chair,  and  no  one  else  was  al- 
lowed to  use  it.  It  was  to  him  that  Louis  Stevenson 
wrote  the  poem  called  "Who  Comes  To-Night?" 
Speaking  of  their  first  meeting,  Mrs.  Stevenson  wrote 
to  her  mother-in-law:  "We  have  had  a  very  pleasant 
visitor.  One  evening  a  card  was  handed  in  with 
'Henry  James'  upon  it.  He  spent  that  evening, 
asked  to  come  again  the  next  night,  arriving  almost 
before  we  had  got  done  with  dinner,  and  staying  as 
late  as  he  thought  he  might,  and  asking  to  come  the 
next  evening,  which  is  to-night.  I  call  that  very 
flattering.  I  had  always  been  told  that  he  was  the 
type  of  an  Englishman,  but,  except  that  he  looks  like 
the  Prince  of  Wales,  I  call  him  the  type  of  an  Ameri- 
can.    He  is  gentle,  amiable,  and  soothing." 

A  wedding  anniversarj'  came  aroimd,  and  it  was 
resolved  to  celebrate  it  by  a  dinner.  Henry  James 
was  the  only  guest,  and  he  took  a  naive  delight  in  the 
American  dishes  which  his  hostess  had  prepared  to 
remind  him  of  his  native  land.  She  writes:  "Our 
dinner   was  most  successful,   our  guest  continually 


EUROPE  AND  THE  BRITISH  ISLES    12S 

asking  for  double  helpings  and  breaking  out  into 
heartfelt  praises  of  the  food.  It  was  a  sort  of  lady's 
and  literary  man's  dinner;  everything  was  just  as 
good  as  could  be,  and  under  each  napkin  was  a  paper 
with  verses  for  each  person  written  by  Louis." 

Long  afterwards,  when  Mr.  James  was  in  America 
for  his  first  visit  in  many  years,  he  went  to  see  Mrs. 
Stevenson  in  her  San  Francisco  house.  He  had  come 
up  from  the  southern  part  of  the  State,  and  was  so 
enchanted  with  the  sights  along  the  way — the  flowery 
hill-slopes  and  green  ferny  canyons — that  for  the  first 
time  he  was  almost  persuaded  to  abandon  his  adopted 
home  and  come  to  live  among  the  orange-groves  of 
California.  "When  I  come  to  dinner,"  said  he, 
"please  have  a  large  dish  of  California  oranges  on  the 
table  if  you  have  nothing  else."  Despite  a  certain 
stiffness  of  manner  and  speech,  he  was  a  man  of 
kindly  heart  and  simple,  unworldly  nature.  After 
the  first  ice  was  broken,  the  most  unintellectual  per- 
son might  prattle  away  to  him  at  ease,  for  his  sym- 
pathies were  of  the  broadest.  Both  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Stevenson  had  a  deep  affection  for  him,  and  "no 
matter  who  else  was  there,  the  evenings  seemed 
empty  without  him." 

In  the  meantime  Mr.  Stevenson's  health  went  but 
badly,  and  his  wife  gave  up  practically  all  her  time 
and  strength  to  his  care. 

In  May,  1887,  the  elder  Stevenson  died,  breaking 
the  last  tie  that  held  them  to  England,  and  three 
months  later  Louis  Stevenson,  with  his  mother,  wife, 
and  stepson,  set  sail  for  America. 


CHAPTER  VII 
AWAY  TO  SUNNIER  LANDS 

After  boarding  the  Ludgate  Hill,  the  tramp  steam- 
ship on  which  they  had  taken  passage  for  New  York, 
chiefly  on  account  of  her  unusually  spacious  cabins, 
they  discovered,  somewhat  to  theu'  discomfiture,  that 
the  cargo,  listed  by  the  agent  as  "notions,"  really 
consisted  largely  of  live  stock — horses  to  be  taken  on 
at  Havre,  and  a  consignment  of  monkeys.  All  their 
party  were  of  the  sort,  however,  who  have  a  "heart 
for  any  fate,"  so  they  agreed  to  regard  this  as  only 
an  added  adventure.  As  it  turned  out,  they  were 
not  disappointed,  for,  as  the  elder  IVirs.  Stevenson 
writes,  "It  was  very  amusing  and  like  a  circus  to 
see  the  horses  come  on  board,"  while  Jocko,  a  large 
ape,  which  soon  struck  up  a  warm  friendship  with 
Mr.  Stevenson,  furnished  them  with  a  vast  amount 
of  entertainment.  The  exceptional  freedom  which 
they  enjoyed  on  board,  too,  more  than  counterbal- 
anced any  lack  of  elegance.  In  a  vein  of  exuberant 
joy  at  this  escape  from  the  narrow  confines  of  the 
sick-room,  Louis  writes  to  his  Cousin  Bob: 

"I  was  so  happy  on  board  that  ship  I  could  not 
have  believed  it  possible.  We  had  the  beastliest 
weather  and  many  discomfort*;  but  the  mere  fact  of 
its  being  a  tramp  ship  gave  us  many  comforts;  we 
could  cut  about  with  the  men  and  officers,  stay  in 

124 


AWAY  TO  SUNNIER  LANDS  125 

the  wheel-house,  discuss  all  manner  of  things,  and 
really  be  a  little  at  sea.  And  truly  there  is  nothing 
else.  I  had  literally  forgotten  what  happiness  was, 
and  the  full  mind — full  of  external  and  physical 
things,  not  full  of  cares  and  labors  and  rot  about  a 
fellow's  behavior.  My  heart  literally  sang;  I  truly 
care  for  nothing  so  much  as  that." 

The  two  ladies  took  up  knitting  to  while  away  the 
long  hours  at  sea,  and  so  the  days  slipped  peacefully 
by,  with  the  invalid  steadily  gainuig  in  health  until 
they  struck  a  heavy  fog  on  the  Newfoundland  banks, 
where  he  caught  a  cold. 

They  reached  New  York  on  September  7,  1887,  at 
the  time  when  Stevenson's  fame  was  in  its  flood-tide. 
Dr.  Jekyll  and  Mr.  Hyde  had  just  made  a  tremendous 
impression  on  the  reading  public;  the  idea  of  dual 
personality  was  being  discussed  on  all  sides;  ministers 
preached  sermons  about  it.  Stevenson  was  amazed 
and  bewildered,  though  immensely  pleased,  at  the 
sudden  turn  of  fortune's  wheel.  Here,  indeed,  was 
success  at  last  in  full  measure. 

Their  original  plan  had  been  to  try  the  climate  of 
Colorado,  but  the  long  overland  journey  seemed  too 
great  an  ordeal  in  his  condition,  and,  hearing  of 
Saranac  in  the  Adirondacks,  then  just  coming  into 
prominence  as  a  resort  for  consumptives,  they  de- 
cided to  make  a  trial  of  it.  While  Louis  and  his 
mother  paid  a  visit  to  the  Fairchilds  at  Newport,  his 
wife  and  stepson  went  on  to  the  mountain  place  to 
make  arrangements. 

This  sanatorium  was  established  by  Doctor  Edward 
Livingstone  Trudeau,  a  New  York  physician  who  had 


126     LIFE  OF  MRS.  R.  L.   STE^^NSON 

nursed  his  brother  through  tuberculosis  and  later  de- 
veloped the  disease  himself.  He  had  tried  going 
South  and  taking  daily  exercise,  but  as  these  attempts 
at  a  cure  only  made  matters  worse,  in  a  sort  of  des- 
peration he  went  to  the  Adirondacks,  not  so  much 
for  health  as  for  love  of  the  great  forest  and  the  wild 
life.  It  was  then  a  rough,  inaccessible  region,  visited 
only  by  hunters  and  fishermen,  and  was  considered 
to  have  a  most  inclement  and  trying  climate.  Tru- 
deau  was  carried  to  the  place  of  Paul  Smith,  a  guide 
and  hotel-keeper,  on  a  mattress,  but  it  was  not  long 
before  he  was  able  to  move  about  and  to  get  some 
enjoyment  out  of  life.  When  he  first  spent  a  winter 
there  it  was  thought  to  mean  his  death-warrant,  but, 
to  his  own  surprise,  he  soon  began  to  eat  and  sleep, 
and  lost  his  fever.  In  1876  he  moved  his  family  to 
Saranac  and  lived  there  always  after  that.  Physi- 
cians in  New  York,  hearing  of  the  case  of  Trudeau, 
began  to  send  patients  now  and  then  to  try  the  cli- 
mate at  Saranac,  and  in  that  small  way  the  health 
resort,  now  so  extensive,  had  its  beginning.  Steven- 
son went  there  in  the  early  days  of  the  sanatorium, 
when  the  place  was  a  mere  little  logging  village, 
where  logs  were  cut  and  floated  down  the  river. 

There  were  two  churches  in  the  place,  called  by  the 
appropriate  names  of  St.  Luke  the  Beloved  Physician 
and  St.  John  in  the  Wilderness,  the  latter  a  picturesque 
structure  of  logs.  These  churches,  both  of  the  Epis- 
copal denomination,  were  built  and  furnished  as  a 
testimonial  of  gratitude  by  persons  who  had  recov- 
ered health  or  had  friends  under  treatment  there. 

As  soon  as  Mrs.  Stevenson  had  her  people  settled 


AWAY  TO  SUNNIER  LANDS  127 

at  Saranac  she  left  them  and  went  to  Indiana  to 
visit  her  mother  and  sister,  stopping  on  the  way  for 
a  few  days  with  the  Bellamy  Storers  at  Cincinnati. 
"The  Storers  live  in  a  sort  of  enchanted  palace,"  she 
writes,  "and  are  very  simple  and  gentle  and  kind, 
and  altogether  lovely.  Mrs.  Storer  has  a  pottery, 
where  poor  ladies  with  artistic  tastes  get  work  and 
encouragement.  She  also  has  a  large  hospital  for 
children,  and  a  little  girl  of  her  own  with  a  genius  for 
drawing.  Mr.  Storer  is  six  feet  three  and  a  half 
inches  in  height  and  has  a  Greek  profile  and  soft 
large  brown  eyes." 

The  Stevensons  reached  Saranac  when  the  woods 
were  all  aflame  with  autumn  glory,  and  to  Mr.  Ste- 
venson's mother  it  all  seemed  unreal  and  "more  like 
a  painted  scene  In  a  theatre"  than  actuality. 

The  house  in  which  they  lived,  a  white  frame  cot- 
tage with  green  shutters  and  a  veranda  around  it, 
belonged  to  a  guide  named  Andrew  Baker,  who  took 
parties  into  the  woods  for  hunting  and  fishing  excur- 
sions. Baker  was  a  typical  frontiersman — brave,  ob- 
stinate, independent,  and  fearless — who  might  have 
stepped  out  of  Leather  Stocking,  and  he  had  a  kind, 
sweet  wife.  The  cottage  stood  on  high  ground,  so 
that  its  occupants  could  look  down  on  the  river,  and 
the  view,  except  for  the  brilliant  hues  of  the  frost- 
tinted  leaves,  was  enough  like  the  Highlands  to  make 
Louis  and  his  mother  feel  quite  at  home- 
Life  in  the  cottage  was  frontier-like  in  its  simplicity, 
and  the  Scotch  lady,  for  whom  this  was  the  first 
experience  in  "roughing  it,"  asked  for  many  things 
that  caused  great  surprise  to  the  village  storekeeper, 


128     LIFE  OF  MRS.  R.   L.   STEVENSON 

including  such  unlieard-of  luxuries  as  coffee-pots, 
teapots,  and  egg-cups.  Writing  to  her  friend  Miss 
Boodle,  the  "gamekeeper"  of  Skerryvore,  Mrs.  Rob- 
ert Louis  Stevenson  describes  their  life  at  Saranac: 

"We  are  high  up  in  the  Adirondack  Mountains, 
living  in  a  guide's  cottage  in  the  most  primitive 
fashion.  The  maid  does  the  cooking  (we  have  little 
beyond  venison  and  bread  to  cook)  and  the  boy 
comes  every  morning  to  carry  water  from  a  distant 
spring  for  drinking  purposes.  It  is  already  very  cold, 
but  we  have  calked  the  doors  and  windows  as  one 
calks  a  boat,  and  have  laid  in  a  store  of  extraordinary 
garments  made  by  the  Canadian  Indians.  I  went  to 
Montreal  to  buy  these  and  came  back  laden  with 
buffalo  skins,  snow  shoes,  and  fur  caps.  Louis  wants 
to  have  his  photograph  taken  in  his,  hoping  to  pass 
for  a  mighty  hunter  or  sly  trapper.  He  is  now  more 
like  the  hardy  mountaineer,  taking  long  walks  on 
hill-tops  in  all  seasons  and  weathers.  It  is  some- 
thing like  Davos  here,  all  the  invalids  looking  stronger 
and  ruddier  than  we  who  are  supposed  to  be  in  good 
health.  .  .  .  Every  afternoon  a  vehicle  called  a 
*buckboard'  is  brought  to  our  door,  sometimes  with 
one  large  horse  attached,  and  sometimes  we  have  a 
pair  of  lovely  spirited  ponies.  The  buckboard  is  so 
light  that  when  we  meet  a  stagecoach  on  the  narrow 
road  we  simply  drive  our  horse  up  the  hillside  and 
lift  the  buckboard  out  of  the  way.  Very  soon,  how- 
ever, we  shall  exchange  it  for  a  sleigh." 

It  was  a  long,  bitter  winter  spent  amid  the  ice  and 
snow,  the  thermometer  at  one  time  showing  48  de- 
grees below  zero.     By  November  19  it  was  fiercely 


AWAY  TO  SUNNIER  LANDS  129 

cold,  and  water  and  ink  froze  In  the  rooms  with  fires 
going  all  day  and  night.  When  the  kitchen  floor  was 
washed  with  warm  water,  even  with  a  hot  fire  burning 
in  the  room,  the  floor  became  a  sheet  of  ice.  All  food 
had  to  be  thawed  out  before  it  could  be  eaten,  and 
the  thawing-out  process  sometimes  presented  great 
difficulties,  a  haunch  of  venison  remaining  full  of  ice 
after  being  in  a  hot  oven  for  an  hour.  Sometimes  a 
lump  of  ice  was  left  unmelted  in  the  centre  of  the 
soup-pot  even  when  the  water  boiled  all  around  it. 
The  cold  was  most  intense  at  night,  when  the  rivets 
could  be  heard  starting  from  the  boards  like  pistol- 
shots,  but  during  the  day  the  temperature  was  often 
quite  mild.  The  snow  was  so  deep  that  it  reached 
the  second-story  windows,  and  paths  had  to  be 
shovelled  out  and  kept  clear  around  the  house.  In 
the  streets  a  snow-plough  was  used.  By  March  the 
Hunter's  Home  was  nearly  buried  in  the  drifts,  and 
in  spite  of  a  huge  open  fireplace,  in  which  great  log 
fires  were  kept  constantly  burning,  and  a  stove  in 
every  room,  it  was  impossible  to  do  much  more  than 
barely  keep  from  freezing  to  death.  When  they 
went  out,  muffled  up  to  the  ears  in  furs,  they  carried 
little  slabs  of  hot  soapstone  in  their  pockets,  for  it 
was  a  great  comfort  to  thrust  a  frozen  hand  into  a 
toasting-hot  pocket. 

Added  to  the  bitterness  of  the  cold  was  the  depres- 
sion of  grey,  sunless  days,  only  too  like  their  memo- 
ries of  Scotland,  and  while  they  sat  and  shivered 
around  their  immense  fibreplace  their  thoughts  turned 
insistently  towards  sunnier  lands.  Many  years  be- 
fore, when  Mr.  Stevenson  was  a  mere  lad,  it  had  been 


130     LIFE  OF  IMRS.  R.  L.  STEVENSON 

suggested  that  the  South  Seas  was  the  very  place  for 
him,  and  the  plan  for  a  voyage  there  some  time  in 
the  future  had  always  lain  dormant  in  his  thoughts, 
waiting  for  the  opportunity.  This  old  dream  now 
came  to  mind  again,  and  every  glance  from  their 
frost-covered  windows  at  the  bleak  dreariness  with- 
out made  their  vision  of  tropical  forests  and  coral 
strands  seem  the  more  aUuring.  The  project  now 
began  to  take  on  definite  shape,  and  days  were  spent 
in  j>oring  over  Findlay's  directories  of  the  Mediter- 
ranean, the  Indian  Ocean,  and  the  South  Seas. 

In  the  meantime  much  work  was  accomplished, 
the  most  important  being  a  series  of  twelve  articles 
written  by  Mr.  Stevenson  for  Scrtbner^s  Magazine,  in- 
cluding some  of  his  best-known  essays — The  Lantern 
Bearers,  A  Chapter  on  Dreams,  etc.  In  the  short 
hours  of  daylight  and  the  long,  dark  evenings  he 
worked  with  his  stepson  on  the  novel  called  The 
Wratig  Box.  It  was  here,  too,  that  the  story  of  the 
two  brothers,  The  Master  of  Ballantrae,  was  thought 
out,  and  The  Black  Arrow,  a  book  which  failed  to 
meet  with  Mrs.  Stevenson's  approval,  was  revised. 
In  the  dedication  to  this  last  he  says: 

"No  one  but  myself  knows  what  I  have  suffered, 
nor  what  my  books  have  gained,  by  your  unsleeping 
watchfulness  and  admirable  pertinacity.  And  now 
here  is  a  volume  that  goes  into  the  world  and  lacks 
your  imprimatur;  a  strange  thing  in  our  joint  lives; 
and  the  reason  of  it  stranger  still !  I  have  watched 
with  interest,  with  pain,  and  at  length  with  amuse- 
ment, your  unavailing  attempts  to  peruse  The  Black 
Arrow;  I  think  I  should  lack  humor  indeed  if  I  let 


AWAY  TO  SUNNIER  LANDS  131 

the  occasion  slip  and  did  not  place  your  name  in  the 
fly-leaf  of  the  only  book  of  mine  that  you  have  never 
read — and  never  will  read." 

By  the  time  spring  had  melted  the  deep  snow 
around  their  mountain  home  they  had  come  to  the 
definite  decision  to  undertake  the  cruise  in  the  event 
that  a  suitable  vessel  could  be  secured  for  the  pur- 
pose. Leaving  the  other  members  of  the  family 
about  to  start  for  Manasquan  in  New  Jersey,  Mrs. 
Robert  Louis  Stevenson  went  to  San  Francisco,  where 
she  found  and  chartered  the  yacht  Casco,  belonging 
to  Doctor  Merritt  of  Oakland,  for  a  six  months'  cruise. 

While  in  California  she  came  to  visit  me  at  Mon- 
terey, where  years  before  we  had  all  been  so  happy 
together.  During  the  week  she  spent  there  we  did 
the  things  that  she  liked  best — spending  long  de- 
lightful days  gathering  shells  on  the  beach  at  Point 
Cypress,  where  the  great  seas  roared  in  from  across 
the  wide  Pacific  and  broke  thunderously  at  our  feet. 
When  noon  came,  bringing  us  appetites  sharpened 
by  the  sparkling  air,  we  built  a  fire  under  the  old 
twisted  trees  and  barbecued  the  meat  we  had  brought 
with  us.  She  seemed  to  be  welling  over  with  happi- 
ness— partly  because  of  her  great  pride  and  joy  in 
her  husband's  success,  and  partly  because,  after 
years  spent  in  Alpine  snows,  Scotch  mists,  London 
fogs,  and  fierce  Adirondack  cold,  she  had  come  again 
into  the  sunlight  of  her  beloved  California. 

While  there  she  had  a  pleasant  meeting  with 
Louis's  old  friend  Jules  Simoneau,  of  which  she 
writes  to  her  husband: 

"At  last  your  dear  old  Simoneau  came  to  see  me. 


132     LIFE  OF  MRS.  R.   L.   STEVENSON 

He  was  laden  with  flowers,  and  was  dressed  in  a 
flannel  shirt  thrown  open  at  the  neck  and  his  trou- 
sers thrust  in  his  boots.  I  saw  him  from  the  window 
and  ran  out  and  kissed  him.  He  was  greatly  pleased 
and  talked  a  long  time  about  you.  I  told  him  you 
were  going  to  send  him  the  books,  and  he  almost 
cried  at  that.  The  following  day  he  and  his  wife 
spent  the  whole  time  in  the  woods  searching  for 
roots  and  leaves  that  are,  according  to  the  Indians, 
a  certain  cure  for  lung  disease  where  there  is  hem- 
orrhage. I  have  a  great  packet  of  them;  one  dose  is 
divided  off,  and  I  am  to  divide  the  rest  in  the  same 
way.  A  dose  means  enough  to  make  a  gallon  of 
tea,  of  which  you  are  to  drink  when  so  inclined. 
Simoneau  said:  *I  thought  you  might  be  ashamed  of 
a  rough  old  eccentric  fellow  like  me.'  I  expressed 
my  feeling  in  regard  to  him,  to  which  he  replied: 
*And  yet  I  am  rough  and  eccentric;  you  say  I  was 
kind;  I  fear  that  to  be  kind  is  to  be  eccentric."* 

Having  secured  the  Casco,  she  telegraphed  to  her 
anxiously  waiting  husband  for  a  positive  decision, 
to  which  he  sent  back  an  instant  and  joyous  "Yes." 

It  is  now  thirty  years  since  Robert  Louis  Stevenson 
passed  that  winter  in  the  snows  of  the  Adirondacks, 
and  the  little  logging-camp,  as  he  knew  it,  has  grown 
into  a  great  sanatorium,  but  his  spirit  still  seems  to 
hover  over  the  place,  and  those  who  seek  the  healing 
of  its  crystal  air  have  set  up  a  shrine  and  made  of 
him  a  sort  of  patron  saint.  The  Baker  Cottage  has 
been  converted  by  the  Stevenson  Society  into  a 
memorial  museum,  where  many  objects  commemora- 
tive of  him  have  been  collected.     Among  these  are 


AWAY  TO  SUNNIER  LANDS  133 

the  woodcuts  with  which  he  amused  himself  at 
Davos,  and  which  were  given  to  them  by  Lloyd 
Osbourne.  Here  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Baker,  whose  hair 
has  been  whitened  by  the  snows  of  many  winters 
since  the  Stevenson  days,  receive  the  visitors  who 
come  to  reverently  examine  the  relics  left  by  the  man 
who  fought  so  bravely  and  so  successfully  against  the 
same  insidious  enemy  with  whom  they  themselves  are 
struggling.  On  the  veranda,  where,  in  that  time  so 
long  past,  his  slender  figure  might  often  have  been 
seen  walking  up  and  down,  a  beautiful  bas-rehef  by 
Gutzon  Borglum,  representing  him  in  the  fur  cap 
and  coat  and  the  boots  that  he  was  so  boyishly  proud 
of,  has  been  set  up.  Just  as  the  mantle  of  Stevenson 
fell  upon  Cummy*  and  Simoneau,  so  now  it  has 
fallen  upon  this  most  amiable  and  delightful  old 
couple,  the  Bakers,  making  them  in  a  way  celebrities; 
and  to  the  patients  his  memory  is  like  that  of  a  dear 
departed  elder  brother,  to  whom  they  are  linked  by 
the  strong  bond  of  a  common  suffering  and  a  common 
hope. 

As  soon  as  they  could  make  ready  the  family  set 
out,  and  by  June  7  their  train  was  rolling  down  the 
western  slope  of  the  Sierras  into  California.  At  Sac- 
ramento they  were  met  by  their  "advance  agent,'* 
who,  as  her  mother-in-law  remarks,  "was  looking  so 
pretty  in  a  new  hat  that  we  were  grieved  to  hear  that 
it  belonged  to  her  daughter." 

Immediately  on  reaching  San  Francisco  they  were 
plunged  into  a  bustle  of  preparation  for  the  long 
cruise.     While  he  rested  from  the  fatigue  of  the  long 

*  Alison  Cunningham,  Stevenson's  old  nurse. 


134     LIFE  OF  MRS.   R.   L.   STEVENSON 

overland  trip  Mrs.  Stevenson  went  on  with  the  work, 
including,  among  otlier  things,  vaccination  for  all 
hands  except  the  sick  man.  Lymph  was  taken  with 
them  so  that  his  wife  could  vaccinate  him  if  it  should 
become  necessary.  The  burden  of  these  prepara- 
tions, including  the  winning  over  of  Doctor  Merritt, 
who  was  not  inclined  to  rent  his  yacht  at  first,  fell 
upon  the  shoulders  of  Mrs.  Stevenson.  Sending  the 
others  here  and  there  on  errands,  getting  the  burgee 
to  fly  at  the  masthead,  purchasing  all  the  multitudi- 
nous list  of  supplies  necessary  for  the  long  voyage, 
making  sure  that  nothing  that  might  be  needed  by 
the  invalid  should  be  forgotten,  with  flying  runs  be- 
tween times  to  report  to  him  at  the  hotel — these  were 
busy  days  for  her. 

While  they  were  in  San  Francisco  Mrs.  Stevenson 
had  a  strange  and  dramatic  meeting  with  Samuel 
Osbourne's  second  wife,  a  quiet,  gentle  little  woman 
whom  he  married  soon  after  his  divorce  from  Fanny 
Van  de  Grift.  Within  a  year  or  two  after  the  mar- 
riage Osbourne  mysteriously  disappeared,  never  to  be 
heard  of  again,  and  his  wife  dragged  out  a  pitiful  ex- 
istence at  their  vineyard  at  Glen  Ellen,  in  Sonoma 
County,  hoping  against  hope  for  his  return.  Finally 
her  faith  failed,  and  when  she  met  Mrs.  Stevenson  in 
San  Francisco  she  fell  on  her  knees  before  her  and 
burst  into  bitter  weeping,  saying:  "You  were  right 
about  that  man  and  I  was  wrong ! "  She  was  then 
taken  in  to  see  Louis,  and  the  two  women  sat  hand  in 
hand  by  his  bedside  and  talked  of  the  trouble  that 
had  darkened  both  their  lives.  Both  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Stevenson   felt  great   compassion   for   the   unhappy 


AWAY  TO  SUNNIER  LANDS  135 

woman  and  did  what  they  could  to  reheve  her  finan- 
cial needs. 

The  Casco  was  a  beautiful  racing  yacht,  with  cabin 
fittings  of  silk  and  velvet,  and  was  kept  so  shiningly 
clean  by  her  crew  that  in  the  islands  she  came  to  be 
known  as  the  Silver  Ship.  At  last  all  was  ready, 
and,  with  a  cabin  packed  with  flowers  and  fruit  sent 
by  admiring  friends,  early  in  the  morning  of  June  28, 
1888,  as  the  first  rays  of  the  sun  glinted  back  from 
the  dancing  water,  the  Casco  was  towed  across  the 
bay,  amid  salutes  from  the  ferry-boats  and  the  trains 
on  shore,  and  out  through  the  narrow  passage  of  the 
Golden  Gate.  Then  the  Silver  Ship,  shaking  out 
her  snowy  sails,  turned  her  prow  across  the  glittering 
expanse  straight  towards  the  enchanted  isles  of  which 
Louis  Stevenson  had  dreamed  since  he  was  a  boy  of 
twenty. 

The  women  had  already  provided  themselves  with 
their  old  solace  of  knitting  for  the  slow-passing  days 
at  sea,  and  all  settled  down  for  the  long  voyage.  All 
through  the  story  of  their  three  years  of  wandering 
among  the  islands  of  the  South  Seas  runs  the  thread 
of  the  wife's  devotion;  of  how  she  took  upon  herself 
the  fatiguing  details  of  preparations  for  the  voyages, 
searching  for  ships  and  arranging  for  supplies;  of  how 
she  walked  across  an  island  to  get  horses  and  wagon 
to  move  the  sick  man  to  a  more  comfortable  place; 
of  how  she  saved  his  trunk  of  manuscripts  from  de- 
struction by  fire  on  shipboard,  of  how  she  cheerfully 
endured  a  thousand  discomforts,  hardships,  and 
even  dangers  for  the  sake  of  the  slight  increase  of 
health  and  happiness  the  life  brought  to  the  loved 


136     LIFE  OF  MRS.   R.   L.  STEVENSON 

one.  She  was  not  a  good  sailor  and  suffered  much 
from  seasickness  on  these  voyages.  Some  of  the 
trials  of  life  on  the  ocean  wave  under  rough  condi- 
tions are  described  in  a  letter  to  her  friend  Mrs. 
Sitwell : 

*'As  for  me,  I  hate  the  sea  and  am  afraid  of  it 
(though  no  one  will  believe  that  because  in  time  of 
danger  I  do  not  make  an  outcry),  but  I  love  the  tropic 
weather  and  the  wild  people,  and  to  see  my  two  boys 
so  happy.  .  .  .  To  keep  house  on  a  yacht  is  no  easy 
matter.  When  I  was  deathly  sick  the  question  was 
put  to  me  by  the  cook:  '\\Tiat  shall  we  have  for  the 
cabin  dinner,  what  for  to-morrow's  breakfast,  what 
for  lunch,  and  what  about  the  sailors'  food?  And 
please  come  and  look  at  the  biscuits,  for  the  weevils 
have  got  into  them,  and  show  me  how  to  make  yeast 
that  wall  rise  of  itself,  and  smell  the  pork,  which 
seems  pretty  high,  and  give  me  directions  about 
making  a  pudding  with  molasses,  etc'  In  the  midst 
of  heavy  dangerous  weather,  when  I  was  lying  on 
the  floor  in  utter  misery,  down  comes  the  mate  with 
a  cracked  head,  and  I  must  needs  cut  off  the  blood- 
clotted  hair,  wash  and  dress  the  wound,  and  admin- 
ister restoratives.  I  do  not  like  being  the  'lady  of 
the  yacht,'  but  ashore — oh,  then  I  feel  I  am  repaid 
for  all!" 

Even  Louis  himself,  lover  of  the  sea  though  he  was, 
was  forced  to  acknowledge  that  under  some  circum- 
stances his  capricious  mistress  had  her  unpleasant 
moods.  "The  sea,"  he  writes  to  Sidney  Colvin,  "is 
a  terrible  place,  stupefying  to  the  mind  and  poisonous 
to  the  temper — the  motion,  the  lack  of  space,  the 


AWAY  TO  SUNNIER  LANDS  137 

cruel  publicity,  the  villainous  tinned  foods,  the  sailors, 
the  passengers."  Again  he  remarks  concerning  the 
food:  "Our  diet  had  been  from  the  pickle  tub  or  out 
of  tins;  I  had  learned  to  welcome  shark's  flesh  for  a 
variety;  and  an  onion,  an  Irish  potato,  or  a  beefsteak 
had  been  long  lost  to  sense  and  dear  to  aspira- 
tion." 

But  the  glamour  of  romance  and  the  joy  of  seeing 
her  husband  gaining  strength  hour  by  hour  made  all 
these  annoyances  seem  things  of  small  account,  and, 
just  as  the  time  spent  at  Hyeres  was  the  happiest  in 
Louis's  life,  so  these  South  Sea  days  were  the  best 
of  all  for  her. 

It  had  been  decided  that  their  first  landfall  should 
be  at  the  Marquesas,  a  group  which  lay  quite  out  of 
the  beaten  track  of  travel,  three  thousand  miles  from 
the  American  coast.  Peacefully  the  days  slipped  by, 
with  no  event  to  record,  until,  on  July  28,  1888,  their 
first  tropic  island  rose  out  of  the  sea  and  sent  them 
in  greeting  a  breeze  laden  with  the  perfume  of  a 
thousand  strange  flowers.  They  first  dropped  anchor 
in  Anaho  Bay,  Nukahiva  Island,  which,  except  for 
one  white  trader,  was  occupied  solely  by  natives,  but 
lately  converted  from  cannibalism.  As  both  Steven- 
son and  his  wife  were  citizens  of  the  world  in  their 
sympathies,  it  was  not  long  before  they  were  on  terms 
of  perfect  friendliness  with  the  inhabitants.  Soon 
after  landing,  Mrs.  Stevenson's  housekeeping  instincts 
came  to  the  front,  and  she  set  to  work  to  learn  some- 
thing about  the  native  cookery.  Her  mother-in-law 
writes : 

"Fanny    was    determined    to    get    lessons    in    the 


138     LIFE  OF  MRS.   R.  L.   STEVENSON 

proper  making  of  'kaku/  so  went  asliore  armed  with 
a  bowl  and  beater.  Kaku  is  balced  breadfruit,  with 
a  sauce  of  eocoanut  cream,  which  is  made  by  beating 
up  the  soft  pulp  of  the  green  nut  with  the  juice,  and 
is  delicious."* 

Although  the  Casco  had  been  originall^^  built  solely 
for  coast  sailing,  and  was  scarcely  fit  for  battling  with 
wind  and  wave  on  the  open  sea,  it  was  decided  to  take 
the  risk  and  lay  their  course  for  Tahiti  through  the 
Dangerous  Archipelago.  After  taking  on  a  mate 
who  was  thoroughly  acquainted  with  those  waters, 
and  a  Chinese  named  Ah  Fu  to  serve  them  as  cook, 
they  sailed  away  from  the  Marquesas.  Ah  Fu  had 
been  brought  to  the  islands  when  a  child,  a  forlorn 
little  slave  among  a  band  of  labourers  sent  by  a  con- 
tractor to  work  on  the  plantations,  although,  as  the 
contract  called  for  grown  men,  it  was  fraudulent  to 
send  a  child.  On  the  islands  the  boy  grew  up  tall 
and  robust,  abandoned  the  queue,  and  no  longer 
looked  in  the  least  like  a  Chinese.  He  became  one  of 
the  most  important  members  of  the  Stevenson  family, 
remaining  with  them  for  two  years.  He  was  intensely 
attached  to  Mrs.  Stevenson,  carrying  his  devotion  so 
far  that  once  during  a  storm,  when  the  ship  was 
apparently  about  to  go  to  the  bottom,  he  appropriated 
the  signal  halyards,  for  which  she  had  expressed  an 
admiration,  to  give  her  as  a  present,  explaining  that 
"if  the  ship  went  down  they  wouldn't  want  them, 
and  if  it  were  saved  they  would  all  be  too  grateful  to 
miss  them."  When  the  time  came  for  him  to  leave 
the  Stevensons  and  return  to  his  family  in  China,  it 

*  The  Letters  uf  Mrs.  M.  I.  Stevenson,  Saranac  to  Marquesas. 


AWAY  TO  SUNNIER  LANDS  139 

nearly  broke  his  heart  to  go.  Mrs.  Stevenson  writes 
of  him: 

"Ah  Fu  had  as  strong  a  sense  of  romance  as  Louis 
himself.  He  returned  to  China  with  a  belt  of  gold 
around  his  waist,  a  ninety  dollar  breech  loader  given 
him  by  Louis,  and  a  boxful  of  belongings.  His  inten- 
tion was  to  leave  these  great  riches  with  a  member  of 
his  family  who  lived  outside  tlie  village,  dress  himself 
in  beggar's  rags,  and  then  go  to  his  motlier's  house 
to  solicit  alms.  He  would  draw  from  her  the  account 
of  the  son  who  had  been  lost  when  he  was  a  little 
child,  and,  at  the  psychological  moment,  when  the 
poor  lady  was  weeping,  Ah  Fu  would  cry  out:  'Behold 
your  son  returned  to  you,  not  a  beggar,  as  I  appear, 
but  a  man  of  wealth  !"* 

On  September  8  they  ran  into  the  lagoon  of  Faka- 
rava,  a  typical  low  island  forming  a  great  ring  some 
eighty  miles  in  circumference  by  only  a  couple  of 
hundred  yards  in  width,  and  lying  not  more  than 
twenty  feet  above  the  sea.  Their  experiences  during 
a  fortnight's  stay  on  this  bird's  roost  in  the  Pacific 
are  thus  described  by  Mrs.  Stevenson: 

"Leaving  the  yacht  Casco  in  tlie  lagoon,  we  hired 
a  cottage  on  the  beach  where  we  lived  for  several 
weeks.  Fakarava  is  an  atoll  of  the  usual  horseshoe 
shape,  so  narrow  that  one  can  walk  across  it  in  ten 
minutes,  but  of  gi-eat  circumference;  it  lay  so  little 
above  the  sea  level  that  one  had  a  sense  of  insecurity, 
justified  by  the  terrible  disasters  following  the  last 
hurricane  in  the  group.  Not  far  from  where  we  lived 
the  waves  had  recently  swept  over  the  narrow  strip 
of  coral  during  a  storm.     Our  life  passed  in  a  gentle 


140     LIFE  OF  MRS.   R.   L.   STEVENSON 

monotony  of  peace.  At  sunrise  we  walked  from  our 
front  door  into  the  warm,  shallow  waters  of  the  lagoon 
for  our  bath;  we  cooked  our  breakfast  on  the  remains 
of  an  old  American  cooking  stove  I  discovered  on  the 
beach,  and  spent  the  rest  of  the  morning  sorting  over 
the  shells  we  had  found  the  previous  day.  After 
lunch  and  a  siesta  we  crossed  the  island  to  the  wind- 
ward side  and  gathered  more  shells.  Sometimes  we 
would  find  the  strangest  fish  stranded  in  pools  be- 
tween the  rocks  by  the  outgoing  tide,  many  of  them 
curiously  shaped  and  brilliantly  colored.  Some  of 
the  most  gorgeous  were  poisonous  to  eat,  and  capable 
of  inflicting  very  unpleasant  wounds  with  their  fins. 
The  captain  suffered  for  a  long  time  with  a  sort  of 
paralysis  in  a  finger  he  had  scratched  when  handling 
a  fish  with  a  beak  like  a  parrot.  .  .  . 

"The  close  of  the  placid  day  marked  the  beginning 
of  the  most  agreeable  part  of  the  twenty-four  hours; 
it  was  the  time  of  the  moon,  and  the  shadows  that 
fell  from  the  cocoanut  leaves  were  so  sharply  defined 
that  one  involuntarily  stepped  over  them.  After  a 
simple  dinner  and  a  dip  in  the  soft  sea,  we  awaited 
our  invariable  visitor,  M,  Donat  Rimareau,  the  half- 
caste  \ace-president.  As  it  was  not  the  season  for 
pearl  fishing,  there  were  no  white  men  on  the  island, 
though  now  and  again  a  schooner  with  a  French  cap- 
tain would  appear  and  disappear  like  a  phantom  ship. 
The  days  were  almost  intolerably  hot,  but  with  the 
setting  of  the  sun  a  gentle  breeze  sprang  up.  We 
spent  the  evenings  in  the  moonlight,  sitting  on  mat- 
tresses spread  on  the  veranda,  our  only  chair  being 
reserved    for    our    guest.     The    conversation    with 


AWAY  TO  SUNNIER  LANDS  141 

M.  Rimareau,  who  was  half  Tahitian,  was  dehghtful. 
Night  after  night  we  sat  entranced  at  his  feet,  thrilled 
by  stories  of  Tahiti  and  the  Paumotus,  always  of  a 
supernatural  character.  There  was  a  strange  sect  in 
Fakarava  called  the  'Whistlers/  resembling  the  spiri- 
tualists of  our  country,  but  greater  adepts.  When 
M.  Rimareau  spoke  of  these  people  and  their  super- 
stitions his  voice  sank  almost  to  a  whisper,  and  he 
cast  fearful  glances  over  his  shoulder  at  the  black 
shadows  of  the  palms.  I  remember  one  of  the  stories 
was  of  the  return  of  the  soul  of  a  dead  child,  the  soul 
being  wrapped  in  a  leaf  and  dropped  in  at  the  door 
of  the  sorrowing  parents.  I  am  sure  that  when  my 
husband  came  to  write  The  Isle  of  Voices  he  had  our 
evenings  in  Fakarava  and  the  stories  of  M.  Rimareau 
in  mind.  I  know  that  I  never  read  The  Isle  of  Voices 
without  a  mental  picture  rising  before  me  of  the 
lagoon  and  the  cocoa  palms  and  the  wonderful  moon- 
light of  Fakarava."  * 

It  was  the  Fakaravans  who  gave  the  name  of  Pahi 
Muni,  the  shining  or  silver  ship,  to  the  Casco. 

Here  the  two  ladies  of  the  Stevenson  party  took 
lessons  from  the  niece  of  a  chief  in  plaiting  hats  of 
bamboo  shavings  and  pandanus,  and  Mrs.  Louis 
learned  how  to  make  them  beautifully.  This  hat- 
making  is  the  constant  "fancy-work"  of  all  Tahitian 
women,  and  serves  in  lieu  of  the  tatting  and  embroi- 
dery of  civilized  lands.  The  best  hats  are  made  of  the 
stalks  of  the  arrowroot  plant. 

In  the  last  week  of  September,  bidding  a  regretful 
farewell  to  M.  Rimareau  and  his  delightful  moonlight 

*  Preface  by  Mrs.  Stevenson  to  Island  Nights  Entertainments. 


142     LIFE  OF  MRS.   R.  L.   STEVENSON 

talks,  they  set  sail  for  Papeete,  the  capital  and  port 
of  entry  of  the  Society  Group — most  beautiful  of  all 
the  islands  of  the  Pacific.  But,  though  they  were 
entranced  with  the  grandeur  and  charm  of  its  scenery 
— its  towering  cliffs,  leaping  cascades,  and  green, 
palm-fringed  flat  land  of  the  coast — Papeete  did  not 
treat  them  well,  and  their  old  enemy,  which  had  for- 
gotten them  for  some  happy  months,  again  found 
them  out  there  and  Louis  had  a  severe  relapse,  with 
a  return  of  the  hemorrhages.  It  was  clear  that  Pa- 
peete did  not  agree  with  him,  and  it  was  decided  to 
remove  him  to  a  more  suitable  place.  After  a  perilous 
trip  around  the  island  in  the  CascOy  during  which  the 
ship  was  twice  nearly  lost  on  the  reefs,  they  reached 
Taravao,  but  found  it  hot  and  full  of  mosquitoes. 
Mr.  Stevenson  was  now  very  ill,  and  it  was  impera- 
tively necessary,  not  only  to  find  a  more  salubrious 
spot,  but  also  some  means  of  transporting  him  to  it. 
His  wife,  equal  to  the  occasion,  as  always,  set  out  on 
foot  across  the  island,  following  a  trail  until  she 
reached  the  shanty  of  a  Chinese  who  had  a  wagon 
and  a  pair  of  horses.  "  These  she  hired  to  take  them 
to  Tautira,  the  nearest  village  of  any  size,  a  distance 
of  sixteen  miles  over  a  road  crossed  by  one-and-twenty 
streams.  Stevenson  was  placed  in  the  cart,  and,  sus- 
tained by  small  doses  of  coca,  managed,  with  the 
help  of  his  wife  and  their  servant,  to  reach  his  desti- 
nation before  he  collapsed  altogether."  * 

They  found  a  house  and  made  him  as  comfortable 
as  possible.  It  was  not  long  before  Princess  Moe, 
ex-queen  of  Raiatea,  and  a  most  charming  person, 

*  The  Life  of  Robert  Louis  Stevenson,  by  Graham  Balfour. 


AWAY  TO  SUNNIER  LANDS  143 

heard  of  their  arrival  and  came  to  see  them.  **I 
feel,'*  writes  Mrs.  Stevenson,  "that  she  saved  Louis's 
life.  He  was  l^'ing  in  a  deep  stupor  when  she  first 
saw  him,  suffering  from  congestion  of  the  lungs  and 
a  burning  fever.  She  made  him  a  dish  of  raw  fish 
salad,  the  first  thmg  he  had  eaten  for  days;  he  liked 
it  and  began  to  pick  up  from  that  day.  As  soon  as 
he  was  well  enough  she  invited  us  to  live  with  her  in 
the  house  of  Ori,  the  sub-chief  of  the  village,  and  we 
gladly  accepted  her  invitation."  There  they  lived 
as  "in  fairyland,  the  guests  of  a  beautiful  brown 
princess." 

\Mien  the  Casco  had  been  brought  around  to  Tau- 
tira  it  was  discovered  in  a  peculiar  way  that  tlieir 
danger  in  the  recent  trip  from  Papeete  had  been 
greater  than  they  had  realized.  The  elder  Mrs. 
Stevenson  gave  a  feast  on  board  to  a  number  of  native 
women,  and  during  its  progress  one  of  the  women 
offered  a  prayer  for  their  deliverance  from  the  perils 
of  the  sea,  praying  especially  that  if  anything  were 
wrong  with  the  ship  it  might  be  discovered  in  time. 
The  elder  Mrs.  Stevenson  had  tried  in  vain  to  per- 
suade Captain  Otis  to  go  to  church  at  the  places 
where  they  stopped.  This  time  the  church  came  to 
him  and  he  couldn't  escape,  but  stood  leaning  dis- 
gustedly against  the  mast  while  the  prayer  was  said. 
After  the  visitors  left  he  made  some  impatient  excla- 
mation against  "psalm-singing  natives,"  and  struck 
the  mast  a  hard  blow  with  his  fist.  It  went  through 
into  decayed  wood,  and  the  captain  was  aghast. 
Mrs.  Stevenson,  on  her  part,  was  triumphant,  and 
she  always  loved  to  tell  that  story  and  dwell  on  the 


144     LIFE   OF  MRS.   R.   L.   STEVENSON 

expression  of  the  scoffing  captain's  face  as  he  saw  a 
prayer  answered.  Both  masts  were  found  to  be 
almost  entirely  eaten  out  with  dry-rot,  and  if  either 
had  gone  by  the  board  off  the  reefs  of  any  of  the 
islands  nothing  could  have  saved  the  Casco  from  going 
to  the  bottom.  The  ship  was  at  once  sent  to  Papeete 
for  repairs,  but  as  it  was  impossible  to  obtain  new 
masts  of  a  proper  size  there,  the^'^  were  obliged  to  be 
content  with  patching  up  the  old  ones.  This  let  the 
party  in  for  a  long  stay  at  Tautira,  at  which  none 
repined,  for  the  scenery  and  climate  were  delightful, 
and  their  new  friends  hospitable  and  interesting. 

Follo'wang  island  custom,  Mrs.  Louis  Stevenson 
and  the  Princess  Moe  exchanged  names — each  tak- 
ing the  name  of  the  other's  mother — that  of  Mrs. 
Stevenson  being  Terii-Tauma-Terai,  part  of  which 
meant  heaven  and  part  gave  her  a  claim  to  some  land 
in  the  neighbourhood. 

Chief  Ori  a  Ori  (Ori  of  Ori,  a  clan  name)  was  a 
magnificent  figure  of  a  man,  standing  six  feet  three 
and  broad  and  strong  in  proportion.  "He  looked 
like  nothing  so  much  as  a  Roman  emperor  in  bronze," 
says  Mrs.  Stevenson,  and  when  he  appeared  at  a 
feast  with  a  wreath  of  golden  yellow  leaves  on  his 
head,  all  the  company  cried  out  in  admiration.  As 
he  spoke  very  good  French,  communication  with  him 
was  easy,  and  many  a  pleasant  evening  was  spent  in 
his  house  at  Tautira,  exchanging  strange  tales  of  old, 
wild,  bloody  days  in  the  Scottish  Highlands  and  in 
the  Southern  Seas.  Both  the  Stevensons  conceived  a 
warm  friendship  for  Ori,  which  endured  as  long  as 
they  lived. 


AWAY  TO  SUNNIER   LANDS  145 

As  they  used  to  do  in  Barhizon,  in  the  old  French 
days,  Mrs.  Louis  Stevenson  set  herself  to  making  sil- 
houettes of  the  different  members  of  the  strangely 
assorted  company,  gathered  from  the  four  quarters 
of  the  globe.  First  she  did  the  portrait  of  Ori  by 
throwing  the  shadow  of  his  head  on  the  wall  with  the 
help  of  a  lamp,  then  drawing  the  outline  and  filling  it 
in  with  India  ink.  It  turned  out  so  good  that  Ori 
demanded  likenesses  of  all  the  rest,  and  soon  the 
house  was  turned  into  a  veritable  picture-gallery. 

A  feast  was  given  by  the  chief  for  the  captain  of 
the  Casco,  and,  says  the  elder  Mrs.  Stevenson,  "Ori 
had  such  respect  for  Fanny's  cooking  powers  that  he 
insisted  she  should  prepare  the  feast;  so  she  stuffed 
and  cooked  a  pair  of  fowls,  two  roast  pigs,  and  made 
a  pudding." 

These  days  of  pleasant  intimacy  with  the  Steven- 
sons  were  doubtless  the  brightest  in  the  whole  life  of 
the  island  chief,  and  he  kept  them  always  in  affection- 
ate remembrance.  Years  afterwards,  when  Mrs. 
Stevenson  was  living  in  San  Francisco  after  the  death 
of  her  husband,  two  of  her  friends,  Doctor  and  Mrs. 
Russell  Cool,  went  to  Tahiti,  and  were  commissioned 
by  her  to  visit  Chief  Ori  a  Ori.  The  Cools  took  with 
them  a  phonograph  and  themselves  made  records  of 
a  speech  by  Ori  to  Mrs.  Stevenson,  which,  with  its 
translation,  was  afterwards  reproduced  for  her  in 
San  Francisco.  But  let  us  hear  Mrs.  Cool's  own 
story  of  this  visit: 

"Ori  had  never  seen  a  phonograph  in  his  life,  but 
his  interest  was  that  of  a'clever  and  civilized  person — 
with  none  of  the  ignorance  and  terror  and  supersti- 


146     LIFE  OF  MRS.   R.   L.   STEVENSON 

tion  of  a  savage.  He  was  more  than  interested  in 
everything  relating  to  Louis  and  Tamaitai,*  asking 
all  sorts  of  questions,  intelligent  ones,  too,  about 
their  life  in  Samoa;  then  in  San  Francisco;  about 
Tamaitai's  personal  appearance — if  her  hair  was 
gray;  whether  she  had  a  town  house  and  country 
house,  and  whether  they  were  near  the  ocean  and 
the  mountains.  He  had  a  perfect  picture  when  we 
had  answered  them  all,  and  he  was  so  pleased  and 
grateful  to  us — bearers  of  interesting  news.  All  this 
time  we  sat  out  on  the  veranda  of  his  cottage,  on  a 
moonlight  night  almost  too  heavenly  to  be  real — a 
tropical  night  filled  with  beauty  and  romance.  Then 
there  was  a  lull  in  the  conversation,  and  Ori  said: 
'And  now  tell  me  about  John  L.  Sullivan !'  We  fell 
down  from  romantic  heights  with  a  thud !  Then  we 
reflected  that  as  Louis  was  the  greatest  man  intellec- 
tually that  Ori  had  ever  met,  so  John  L.  Sullivan,  the 
famous  fighter,  was  the  greatest  man  in  that  line  of 
his  time.  The  islanders,  in  common  with  other 
primitive  peoples,  admire  physical  perfection  tremen- 
dously, and  feats  of  strength  are  celebrated  in  fable, 
song,  and  story.  To  Ori  there  was  nothing  incon- 
gruous in  placing  John  L.  Sullivan,  the  famous  prize- 
fighter, and  Robert  Louis  Stevenson,  the  noted 
writer — two  great  men — side  by  side. 

"We  stayed  all  night  out  at  Ori's  place,  and  as  a 
mark  of  honor  my  husband  was  given  Louis's  bed 
and  I  was  given  Tamaitai's.  Ori's  wife,  a  little  dear, 
kissed  our  hands  all  round  because  we  came  from 
Tamaitai.     Their  love  and  admiration  for  her  was 

*  Tamaitai  was  the  Samoan  name  of  Mrs.  Stevenson. 


AWAY  TO  SUNNIER  LANDS  147 

so  sincere  and  touching — it  is  the  sweetest  memory  I 
have  of  Tahiti.  We  went  to  see  Ori  especially  for 
Tamaitai,  for  she  wished  to  know  the  condition  of 
his  eyes,  and  whether  he  needed  glasses.  His  eyes 
were  all  right  then,  but  later  on  developed  some 
trouble,  but  he  was  so  very  old  at  that  time  that  he 
was  not  willing  to  make  the  trip  around  the  island 
for  examination." 

In  1906  the  Society  Islands  were  devastated  by  a 
terrific  hurricane,  and,  hearing  that  Ori  had  suffered 
great  loss,  Mrs.  Stevenson  sent  him  a  sum  of  money 
to  help  tide  him  over  the  crisis.  He  was  very  grateful 
for  this  assistance  and  wTote  her  a  letter  of  heartfelt 
thanks,  saying  the  money  would  be  used  to  build  a 
new  house  for  himself  and  family  to  take  the  place 
of  the  houses  that  had  been  swept  away. 

Two  dream-like  months  were  spent  in  this  lovely 
village  of  Tautira,  while  day  after  day,  like  ship- 
wrecked mariners,  they  scanned  the  sea  in  vain  for 
some  signs  of  the  long-delayed  Casco.  At  last  provi- 
sions fell  so  low  that  there  seemed  no  prospect  ahead 
of  them  but  to  live  on  the  charity  of  their  kind  friend 
Ori.  Thinking  of  this  one  day  Mrs.  Stevenson  could 
not  restrain  her  tears,  and  the  chief,  divining  the 
cause  of  her  distress,  said  to  Louis:  "You  are  my 
brother;  all  that  I  have  is  yours.  I  know  that  your 
food  is  done,  but  I  can  give  you  plenty  of  fish  and 
taro.  We  like  you  and  wish  to  have  you  here.  Stay 
where  you  are  till  the  Casco  comes.  Be  happy — et  ne 
pleurez  pas  !*'  They  were  deeply  moved  by  this 
generous  offer  from  a  man  to  whose  island  they  had 
come  as  utter  strangers,  and  to  celebrate  the  occasion 


148     LIFE  OF  MRS.  R.  L.   STEVENSON 

Louis  opened  a  bottle  of  champagne,  which,  curiously 
enough,  was  all  that  was  left  in  their  provision-chest. 
From  this  time  they  lived  almost  entirely  on  native 
food — raw  fish  with  sauce  made  of  cocoanut  milk 
mixed  with  sea-water  and  lime-juice,  bananas  roasted 
in  a  little  pit  in  the  ground,  with  cocoanut  cream  to 
eat  with  them,  etc.  AH  this  sounds  luxurious,  but 
alter  some  time  on  this  diet  the  white  man  b^ins  to 
feel  a  consuming  longing  for  beefsteak  and  bread  and 
coffee. 

At  last  the  repaired  Caaco  hove  in  sight,  and,  after 
a  heart-breaking  farewell  from  their  now  beloved 
friend,  Ori  a  Ori,  and  his  family,  they  set  sail  for 
Honolulu.  The  voyage  of  thirty  days  was  a  wild 
and  stormy  one,  and  they  were  obliged  to  beat  about 
the  Hawaiian  Islands  for  some  days  before  they 
could  enter,  eating  up  the  last  of  their  food  twenty- 
four  hours  before  arrival,  but  finally  the  Silver  Ship, 
flying  like  a  bird  before  a  spanking  trade-wind,  ran 
into  port  around  the  bold  point  of  Diamond  Head. 
The  deep  translucent  blue  of  the  water  was  broken 
by  ruffles  of  dazzling  foam  where  treacherous  reefs 
lay  hidden,  and  on  the  horizon  lay  piles  of  those  fat 
feather-bed  clouds  that  are  never  seen  so  intensely 
white  in  any  other  place.  Their  arrival  was  the 
cause  of  great  rejoicing  to  Mrs.  Stevenson's  daughter, 
who  was  then  living  in  Honolulu,  for  the  Casco,  long 
overdue,  had  been  given  up  as  lost. 

They  found  Honolulu  very  beautiful.  Taking  a 
house  at  Waikiki,  a  short  distance  from  town,  they 
settled  down  to  finish  The  Master  of  Ballantrae.  In 
these   surroundings,    which   seemed   to   them   ultra- 


AWAY  TO  SUNNIER  LANDS  149 

civilized  after  their  experiences  in  the  Marquesas 
and  the  Societies,  they  were  able  to  enjoy  a  little 
family  life.  Under  a  great  hau-tree  that  stood  in  the 
garden  a  birthday-party  was  given  to  Austin  Strong, 
the  little  son  of  Mrs.  Stevenson's  daughter.  Just  as 
though  it  had  been  prearranged,  in  the  midst  of  the 
party  who  should  come  along  but  an  Italian  with  a 
performing  bear,  the  first  that  any  of  the  children 
had  ever  seen !  The  silent  witness  to  these  festivities 
of  years  ago,  the  great  hau-tree,  still  stands. 

It  was  at  this  time  that  Stevenson  began  work  on 
the  scheme  of  his  book  on  the  South  Seas.  This  was 
one  of  the  rare  occasions  when  he  and  his  wife  reached 
a  deadlock  in  their  opinions,  and,  unfortunately  for 
the  success  of  the  book,  he  refused  to  accept  her 
advice.     Writing  to  Sir  Sidney  Colvin,  she  says: 

"I  am  very  much  exercised  by  one  thing.  Louis 
has  the  most  enchanting  material  that  any  one  ever 
had  in  the  whole  world  for  his  book,  and  I  am  afraid 
he  is  going  to  spoil  it  all.  He  has  taken  into  his 
Scotch-Stevenson  head  that  a  stern  duty  lies  before 
him,  and  that  his  book  must  be  a  sort  of  scientific 
and  historical,  impersonal  thing,  comparing  the  dif- 
ferent languages  (of  which  he  knows  nothing  really) 
and  the  different  peoples,  the  object  being  to  settle 
the  question  as  to  whether  they  are  of  common 
Malay  origin  or  not.  .  .  .  Think  of  a  small  treatise 
on  the  Polynesian  races  being  offered  to  people  who 
are  dying  to  hear  about  Ori  a  Ori,  the  'making  of 
brothers'  with  cannibals,  the  strange  stories  they 
told,  and  the  extraordinary  adventures  that  befell 
us !     Louis  says  it  is  a  stern  sense  of  duty  that  is  at 


150     LIFE  OF  MRS.  R.   L.   STEVENSON 

the  bottom  of  it,  which  is  more  alarming  than  any- 
thing else.  .  .  .  What  a  thing  it  is  to  have  a  man 
of  genius  to  deal  with !  It  is  like  managing  an  over- 
bred  horse!" 

"This  letter,"  justly  comments  Sir  Sidney,  "shows 
the  writer  in  her  character  of  wise  and  anxious  critic 
of  her  husband's  work.  The  result,  in  the  judgment 
of  most  of  his  friends,  went  far  to  justify  her  mis- 
givings." 

It  had  been  their  intention  to  return  to  England 
by  way  of  Amei'ica  in  the  following  summer,  but  the 
state  of  Mr.  Stevenson's  health  was  still  not  good 
enough  to  warrant  this  venture,  and,  besides,  the 
short  cruise  among  the  islands  in  the  Casco  had  but 
whetted  their  appetites  for  more.  It  was  finally  de- 
cided that  while  the  elder  Mrs.  Stevenson  went  on 
a  visit  to  Scotland  the  rest  of  the  party  should  sail 
again  for  the  South  Seas,  and  they  began  at  once  to 
make  preparations.  The  charter  of  the  Casco  having 
come  to  an  end,  it  was  necessary  to  find  another  ves- 
sel. All  these  details  were  taken  in  hand  by  Mrs. 
Stevenson  and  her  son,  while  Louis  went  to  Molokai 
to  visit  the  leper  colony,  in  which  he  had  become  in- 
tensely interested  after  discovering  that  every  island 
visited  in  the  Casco  was  afflicted  with  the  curse  of 
leprosy.  They  saw  many  distressing  cases,  and  their 
admiration  for  Father  Damien  and  his  unexampled 
heroism  rose  higher  and  higher.  It  was  while  they 
were  in  Honolulu  tliat  Mr.  Stevenson  read  the  letter 
written  by  the  Reverend  Mr.  Hyde,  and  printed  in  a 
missionary  paper,  which  inspired  his  eloquent  defence 
of  Father  Damien,  afterwards  written  and  published 
in  Sydney,  Australia. 


AWAY  TO  SUNNIER  LANDS  151 

In  tbe  meantime  Mrs.  Stevenson  made  arrange- 
ments to  charter  the  Equator,  a  trading  schooner  of 
only  sixty-four  tons  register,  but  stanchly  built  and 
seaworthy,  and  having  the  added  advantage  of  being 
commanded  by  a  skilful  mariner.  Captain  Denny 
Reid.  On  June  24,  1889,  taking  the  faithful  Ah  Fu 
as  cook,  and  this  time  accompanied  by  Mrs.  Steven- 
son's son-in-law,  Joseph  Strong,  they  sailed  away  for 
the  Gilbert  Islands.  During  their  stay  in  Honolulu 
they  had  struck  up  a  great  friendship  with  the  inter- 
esting and  genial  King  Kalakaua,  and  on  the  day  of 
their  departure  he  appeared  at  the  wharf  with  the 
royal  band  of  musicians  to  see  them  off  in  proper  style. 

As  Mrs.  Strong,  Mrs.  Stevenson's  daughter,  did 
not  wish  to  leave  her  son  Austin  and  the  voyage  was 
considered  too  hazardous  for  so  young  a  child,  she 
went  to  Sydney  to  await  the  arrival  of  the  Equator. 

Through  lovely  days  and  glorious  nights  they  sailed 
along,  the  little  schooner  lying  so  low  in  the  water 
that  they  were  brought  close  to  the  sea,  **  with  a  sort 
of  intimacy  that  those  on  large  ships,  especially 
steamers,  can  never  know." 

Captain  Reid  is  described  by  Mrs.  Stevenson  as 
"a  small  fiery  Scotch-Irishman,  full  of  amusing  eccen- 
tricities, and  always  a  most  gay  and  charming  com- 
panion." Beneath  this  jolly  sea-dog  exterior,  how- 
ever, some  eccentricities  lay  hidden  that  the  crew  did 
not  always  find  amusing.  Hearing  a  noise  of  splash- 
ing in  the  water  by  the  ship's  side,  Mrs.  Stevenson 
found  on  inquiry  that  it  was  the  captain  taking  his 
regular  morning  bath  while  surrounded  by  a  circle 
of  sailors  to  keep  off  the  sharks.  \^'Tien  she  asked 
him  if  he  did  not  think  it  selfish  to  expose  the  sailors 


152     LIFE  OF  MRS.   R.  L.   STEVENSON 

to  the  danger  in  order  to  protect  himself,  he  answered : 
"No,  for  if  the  captain  should  be  lost  think  how 
much  worse  it  would  be  for  all  on  board  than  if  it 
were  a  mere  sailor!" 

Their  first  stop  in  the  Gilberts  was  at  the  port  of 
Butaritari  in  the  island  of  Great  MaJdn,  their  arrival 
being  imfortunately  timed  to  strike  the  town  just 
when  the  taboo  against  strong  drink  had  been  tem- 
porarily lifted  by  the  king,  and  the  whole  population 
was  engaged  in  a  wild  carouse.  For  a  few  days  their 
situation  seemed  precarious,  but  the  king  at  length 
restored  the  taboo,  and  after  that  peace  settled  again 
over  the  island. 

After  a  stay  of  about  a  month  at  Butaritari  they 
moved  to  Apemama,  ruled  over  by  the  strong  and 
despotic  king  Tembinoka,  who,  although  usually  un- 
favourable to  whites,  admitted  the  Stevensons  to  his 
closest  friendship.  He  said  he  was  able  to  judge  all 
people  by  their  eyes  and  mouths,  and,  they  having 
passed  his  examination  succ^sfully,  he  proceeded  at 
once  to  do  all  in  his  power  to  make  them  comfortable. 
They  were  provided  with  four  houses,  "charming  lit- 
tle basket-work  affairs,  something  like  bird-cages, 
standing  on  stilts  about  four  feet  above  the  ground, 
with  hanging  lids  for  doors  and  windows,*'  and  a 
retinue  of  several  more  or  less  useless  servants,  who 
spent  most  of  their  time  in  frolicking. 

When  they  chartered  the  Equator  it  had  been  in 
the  agreement  that  the  ship  should  be  permitted  to 
engage  in  her  legitimate  occupation  of  trading  in  the 
islands  when  opportunity  offered.  She  now  went  off 
on  a  cruise  for  copra,  while  the  Stevensons  stayed  on 
shore  at  Apemama,  where  they  spent  six  peaceful 


AWAY  TO  SUNNIER  LANDS  153 

weeks.  As  they  were  again  marooned  longer  than 
they  expected,  provisions  began  to  run  short,  and  it 
became  necessary  to  live  on  the  products  of  the 
island.  Wild  chickens  were  plentiful,  and  the  handy 
Ah  Fu  found  no  difficulty  in  shooting  them  with  a 
gun  borrowed  from  the  king,  but  a  constant  diet  of 
these  birds  finally  palled  on  them,  and  they  were 
overjoyed  when  some  of  the  king's  fishermen  caught 
several  large  turtles.  "Never,"  says  Mrs.  Stevenson, 
"was  anything  more  welcome  than  these  turtle 
steaks!"  The  long  deprivation  of  green  vegetables 
caused  a  great  desire  for  them,  and  Louis  said:  "I 
think  I  could  shed  tears  over  a  disli  of  turnips  !"  As 
Mrs.  Stevenson  always  carried  garden -seeds  with 
her,  she  took  advantage  of  their  extended  stay  here 
to  plant  onions  and  radishes,  which  soon  came  up 
and  were  received  with  intense  appreciation. 

The  shrewd  Tembinoka,  judge  and  critic  of  his  fel- 
low men,  whom  they  found  to  be  the  most  interesting 
of  aU  their  South  Sea  acquaintances,  did  not  fail  to 
perceive  unusual  qualities  in  the  wife  of  his  guest. 
He  remarked:  "She  good;  look  pretty;  plenty  chench 
(sense)." 

The  king  desired  a  new  design  for  a  flag,  and  all 
set  to  work  to  produce  a  suitable  one.  Mrs.  Steven- 
son's drawing,  which  consisted  of  three  vertical 
stripes  of  green,  red,  and  yellow,  with  a  horizontal 
shark  of  black  showing  white  teeth  and  a  white  eye, 
pleased  him  best  and  was  adopted.  The  design  was 
afterwards  sent  to  Sydney  and  Tembinoka's  flag 
manufactured  from  it.  The  shark  was  a  neat  refer- 
ence to  the  king's  supposed  descent,  of  which  he  was 
very  proud,  from  a  fish  of  that  species. 


154     LIFE  OF  MRS.  R.   L.  STEVENSON 

Finding  that  the  whole  island  was  rapidly  falling 
away  from  Christianity,  the  king  the  worst  of  all,  the 
Stevensons  felt  it  to  be  their  duty  to  go  to  church 
every  Sunday,  to  set  an  example,  although  they 
understood  nothing  of  the  services,  which  were  con- 
ducted in  the  native  language.  During  the  latter 
part  of  their  stay  they  gave  an  exhibition  of  magic- 
lantern  pictures — wretched  daubs,  it  is  true — of  the 
life  of  Christ.  That  their  efforts  to  do  good  were  not 
all  in  vain  was  proved  by  the  gratifying  news  received 
some  time  afterwards  that  all  the  natives,  including 
the  despot  king,  were  returning  to  their  Christian 
duties  and  the  big  church  was  full  again. 

The  absence  of  the  Equator  was  so  prolonged  that 
they  were  in  great  alarm  lest  she  might  be  lost,  but 
at  last  she  hove  in  sight. 

After  much  discussion  during  the  long  days  aboard 
ship  and  ashore,  their  plans  had  been  definitely  formed 
to  make  Apia,  Samoa,  their  next  port  of  call,  and  bid- 
ding farewell,  with  many  regrets,  to  the  island  king, 
the  little  schooner  once  more  raised  her  sails  to  the 
breeze.  Stern  old  savage  as  Tembinoka  was,  he 
could  not  restrain  his  tears  when  he  saw  these  de- 
lightful visitors  from  across  the  seas  sail  away  for- 
ever, leaving  him  to  the  dull  society  of  his  many 
wives,  whom  he  described  as  "good  woman,  but  not 
very  smart."  Later,  while  living  in  Samoa,  they 
were  pained  to  hear  of  the  death  of  their  dear  old 
friend  Tembinoka,  king  of  the  island  where  they  had 
spent  so  many  happy  days.  It  seemed  that  he  had 
an  abscess  on  his  leg,  and  one  of  the  native  doctors 
lanced  it  witli  an  unclean  fish-bone,  which  caused 


AWAY  TO  SUNNIER  LANDS  155 

blood-poisoning  and  the  death  of  the  king  in  great 
agony.  For  the  better  protection  of  his  heir  he  left 
directions  that  his  body  should  be  buried  in  the  centre 
of  the  royal  residence,  no  doubt  with  the  idea  of 
frightening  away  evil-doers  through  their  supersti- 
tious fears. 

This  time  they  took  with  them  a  passenger,  a  Ger- 
man trader  named  Hoflich,  of  whom  Lloyd  Osbourne 
writes : 

"When  Paul  Hoflich,  then  trading  in  Butaritari, 
learned  that  Louis  had  chartered  the  Equator  for 
Samoa,  he  packed  up  his  merchandise  and  with  this 
and  twenty  tons  of  copra  engaged  passage  for  the 
neighboring  island  of  Maraki,  distant  about  sixty 
miles.  For  this  passage  he  paid  sixty  dollars.  In 
spite  of  all  efforts,  however,  the  Equator  failed  to 
reach  Maraki,  being  foiled  by  light  airs  and  violent 
currents;  so  there  was  nothing  left  to  do  but  to  carry 
Paul  on  with  us  to  Samoa,  and  though  the  captain 
tried  to  make  him  pay  an  increased  passage  he  smil- 
ingly but  firmly  refused.  We  always  thought  that 
the  twenty  tons  of  copra  saved  our  lives,  for  it  stiff- 
ened the  ship  in  the  dreadful  little  hurricane  that 
almost  capsized  us." 

I  shall  let  Paul  Hoflich  tell  his  own  story  of  the 
days  when  he  cruised  with  the  Stevensons,  in  the  let- 
ters he  was  kind  enough  to  write  me: 

"My  deae  Mrs.  Sanchez: 

"In  reply  to  your  letter  to  pen  any  little  happen- 
ings concerning  Mr.  R.  L.  Stevenson  while  I  was  with 
the  Stevenson  party  on  board  the  old  Equator^  I  may 


156     LIFE  OF  MRS.  R.   L.   STEVENSON 

say  that  I  am  very  pleased  to  do  so,  but  I  am  afraid 
the  results  will  be  meagre,  for  the  length  of  time  I 
had  the  pleasure  of  being  with  them  did  not  exceed 
ten  weeks.  Besides,  it  is  now  just  twenty-seven 
years  ago.  I  boarded  the  Equator  while  she  was 
among  the  islands  cruising  for  copra,  and  in  due  time 
we  reached  Apemama  and  dropped  anchor  in  the 
lagoon  near  the  king's  boat  fleet.  Going  on  shore  we 
found  the  party  hale  and  much  pleased  with  the 
ship's  arrival.  In  the  evening  the  king,  a  fat  and 
clever  native,  paid  a  visit  and  entertained  us  by  tell- 
ing about  his  ancestors.  On  the  mother's  side  they 
came  from  a  shark,  and  the  father  resigned  in  his 
favor,  as  he  was  not  so  high  a  chief  as  his  son,  the 
descendant  of  the  shark. 

"Mrs.  Stevenson  told  us  she  had  a  garden  planted 
with  all  kinds  of  things,  but  the  soil  was  stubborn 
and  would  not  yield  anything  good  but  cocoanuts; 
in  fact,  all  the  plants  seemed  to  be  growing  into 
cocoanut  trees.  She  also  told  us  about  her  first 
experience  as  a  medicine  man.  One  day  a  man  came 
along,  sat  down,  and  complained  of  a  severe  head- 
ache, asking  for  'binika,'  by  which  he  meant  pain- 
killer. The  lady  thought  he  meant  vinegar,  and  told 
him  it  was  useless  against  a  headache,  but  he  per- 
sisted. So  a  generous  portion  was  poured  out  and 
handed  to  him,  to  be  used  externally.  He  received 
it,  smelled  it,  and  suspicion  was  visible  on  his  counte- 
nance, but,  being  too  polite  to  return  it,  he  swallowed 
the  whole  and  returned  the  glass,  profusely  thanking 
Mrs.  Stevenson.  He  then  rose  and  left,  more  sick 
than  when  he  came. 


AWAY  TO  SUNNIER  LANDS  157 

"The  king  offered  Mrs.  Stevenson  a  sewing- 
machine,  saying  he  had  a  houseful  of  them,  and  as 
his  arsenal  was  short  of  boat  anchors  he  used  the 
sewing-machines  as  such  for  his  fleet. 

"In  a  few  days  everything  was  snug,  and  we  left 
the  moorings  to  beat  through  the  passage,  and  from 
there  pointed  her  head  for  Maraki.  A  nice  breeze 
favored  us,  but  gradually  it  moderated,  and  as  the 
weary  days  dragged  on  a  rumor  started  that  there 
was  a  Jonah  on  board.  At  first  we  eyed  each  other 
with  distrust,  then  it  was  whispered  and  at  last  openly 
declared  that  I  must  be  the  Jonah.  I  mildly  pro- 
tested, saying  that  Mrs.  Stevenson  was  most  likely 
to  blame.  I  told  them  all  sorts  of  stories  to  prove 
that  sailors  believed  that  a  woman  on  board  would 
bring  bad  luck  to  a  ship,  but  all  to  no  avail.  Tlieir 
idea  that  the  passenger  for  Maraki  was  a  Jonah  had 
taken  firm  hold.  Worse  still,  I  began  to  believe  it 
myself,  and  made  up  my  mind  to  jump  the  ship  as 
soon  as  I  had  a  chance. 

"In  the  meantime  we  were  creeping  slowly  along 
until  one  morning,  lo  and  behold,  my  island  hove  in 
sight.  As  the  sun  rose  the  breeze  freshened  and  I 
got  hilarious.  We  were  drawing  nearer  our  anchor- 
age in  good  style  and  could  see  my  station  now 
plainly,  and  the  natives  gathering  on  the  beach.  I 
pictured  myself  already  landing  amidst  their  shouts 
of  welcome,  when,  to  my  horror — I  shudder  even  now 
as  I  pen  these  lines — the  wind  died  out.  I  whistled 
for  wind  imtil  my  lips  blistered,  but  all  in  vain,  for 
the  breeze  kept  straight  up  and  down.  Jonah  was 
at  work  again.     I  demanded  loudly  of  the  captain 


158     LIFE  OF  ]\mS.  R.  L.  STEVENSON 

to  be  put  on  shore,  but  he  only  slu'ugged  his  shoulders. 
The  argument  brought  up  Mr.  Stevenson,  who  said 
*What  about  that  for  a  boat?'  nodding  at  a  certain 
small  deck  house.  *It  resembles  a  skiff,  and  I  dare- 
say the  trade-room  will  spare  a  pair  of  paddles.' 
'The  very  thing,'  said  I,  and  began  sharpening  my 
sheath  knife  to  cut  the  lashings.  While  I  got  busy 
Mrs.  Stevenson  came  to  me  and  I  told  her  what  way 
I  was  going  on  shore.  'Why,'  she  said,  'if  you  make 
your  appearance  in  a  miserable  craft  of  that  kind 
your  reputation  on  Maraki  will  be  gone  forever.  Be- 
sides they  might  take  you  for  a  Jonah  fresh  from  a 
whale  and  turn  you  right  back  to  sea  again.  It 
would  be  safer  to  stay  on  board  and  make  another 
attempt  to  reach  Maraki,  this  time  via  Samoa.'  I 
did  not  think  I  was  getting  quite  a  square  deal,  but 
I  stayed.  The  current  had  taken  us  out  of  sight  of 
land  when  a  strong  and  fair  breeze  sprang  up  and 
carried  us  by  noon  next  day  to  our  anchorage  in 
Butaritari  lagoon. 

"Here  the  party  went  ashore,  biding  the  vessel 
getting  ready  for  sea.  In  a  week  we  lifted  anchor 
and  made  for  the  passage,  but  the  Equator  was  un- 
willing to  leave.  She  hung  on  to  a  reef,  and  not 
until  she  had  parted  with  her  false  keel  would  she 
push  on  and  gain  the  open.  During  the  first  few 
weeks  we  had  to  beat  to  the  eastward,  which  brought 
much  calm  and  rainy  weather.  Mrs.  Stevenson  soon 
found  that  her  berth  was  not  the  driest  place  in  the 
ship.  The  tropical  sun  had  warped  the  decks  so 
that  the  rain  found  its  way  into  the  cabins.  So  Mrs. 
Stevenson   would   emigrate  to  the  galley-way   with 


AWAY  TO  SUNNIER  LANDS  159 

her  couch,  and,  with  the  help  of  an  umbrella  in- 
geniously handled,  manage  to  do  fairly  well  for  a 
night's  rest. 

"One  calm  morning  she  called  to  tell  us  that  sharks 
were  around,  and  that  one  of  them  was  wearing  the 
glasses  Mr.  Osbourne  had  lost  out  of  a  boat  at  Ma- 
raki.  Sure  enough  there  were  lots  of  them,  and  we 
soon  had  shark  and  chain  hooks  over  the  side,  pulling 
them  in  and  despatching  them  quickly  and  painlessly, 
but  we  never  caught  the  one  with  the  glasses  on. 
Mrs.  Stevenson  said  he  could  probably  see  a  little 
better  than  the  others.  Now  it  seems  that  all  these 
sharks  stirred  the  appetite  of  Mr.  Stevenson  for 
shark  steak — at  least  he  advocated  making  a  meal  of 
them.  Mrs.  Stevenson  mildly  remonstrated,  point- 
ing out  that  it  would  be  gruesome  to  eat  the  ancestors 
of  Tembinoka,  the  man  who  had  sheltered  them  for 
weeks.  Mr.  Stevenson  could  not  see  so  far  back, 
so  the  shark  steak  came  on  the  table,  but  his  wife 
managed  to  evade  it.  At  last  a  breeze  sprang  up 
and  the  sharks  took  their  leave. 

"One  night  it  blew  stiff  and  we  shortened  sail,  but 
with  little  advantage.  The  ship  capered  about  till 
she  had  her  topmast  overboard  with  the  jib  attached 
to  it.  This  episode  occasioned  the  composition  of 
the  song  *0n  board  the  old  Equator,'  by  Mrs.  Steven- 
son and  Mr.  Osbourne,  I  believe  for  Mr.  Stevenson's 
birthday.  I  sang  it  on  that  occasion  for  the  first 
time,  and  later  at  Apia  at  a  dinner  given  for  the  ship. 
This  was  before  Mr.  Stevenson  had  given  away  his 
birthday,*  so  he  was  allowed  to  enjoy  it,  as  did  we 

*  See  The  Letters  of  Robert  Louis  Stevenson,  page  279. 


160     LIFE   OF   MRS.   R.   L.   STEVENSON 

all.  Speeches  were  made  and  we  drank  his  health, 
severally  and  all  together.  We  felt  as  happy  as  any 
crew  on  board  of  a  20,000  tonner." 


Of  this  jolly  party,  gathered  together  by  the  earn- 
araderie  of  the  sea,  Lloyd  Osbourne  writes: 

"The  rousing  chorus  was  sung  in  unison:  'Captain 
darling,  where  has  your  topmast  gone,  I  pray  ?  Cap- 
tain darling,  where  has  your  topmast  gone?'  Such 
things  sound  foolish  years  afterwards,  but  at  the  time 
are  gay  and  funny.  Now,  looking  back,  it  seems  as 
though  the  incongruity  of  the  party  was  the  funniest 
thing  about  it — Louis,  my  mother,  myself,  the  boy- 
ish young  Scotch  captain,  the  big  Norwegian  mate, 
the  Finnish  second  mate.  Rick,  a  Russian  ex-sea- 
captain,  Paul  Hoflich,  Joe  Strong  the  artist,  all  the 
very  best  of  friends,  who  had  lived  a  month  together 
crowded  to  suflFocation,  and  yet  were  better  friends 
than  ever  when  they  left  the  ship." 

To  continue  the  story  of  Paul  Hoflich : 
"On  the  twenty-sixth  morning  out  Mrs.  Stevenson 
called  from  the  deck :  '  Come  up  and  see  Samoa ! ' 
Proudly  the  vessel  cut  her  way  towards  the  moun- 
tainous island  covered  with  dark  green  forest  from 
peak  to  beach.  We  were  all  struck  with  its  beauty 
and  elated  with  expectations  as  to  its  hidden  shadowy 
secrets.  Inside  of  an  hour  we  dropped  anchor  in  the 
port  of  Apia,  and  a  friend  came  off  and  took  the 
party  on  shore.  The  vessel's  stay  was  five  days,  and 
then  we  up  sails  and  pointed  her  head  for  Maraki,  to 


AWAY  TO  SUNNIER  LANDS  161 

get  rid  of  the  last  passenger,  the  Jonah  of  the  voyage. 
Before  our  departure  Mr.  Stevenson  gave  a  dinner, 
where  we  gathered  for  the  last  time  around  the 
hospitable  board.  Needless  to  say,  I  was  in  love 
with  the  island  and  acquired  a  piece  of  land  to  bring 
me  back  for  sure.* 

"As  I  look  back  now  I  cannot  help  admiring  Mrs. 
Stevenson  for  her  bravery  and  endurance  in  her  reso- 
lution to  remain  with  her  husband.  For  us  men  this 
life  was  right  enough,  but  for  a  refined  woman  it 
meant  great  hardship.  When  Mr.  Stevenson,  in  his 
birthday  speech  on  board,  said  with  moist  eyes  that 
he  had  never  enjoyed  a  voyage  and  company  so  well 
as  ours,  Mrs.  Stevenson  deserved  the  largest  share  of 
that  praise.  I  remember  how  she  took  care  of  him. 
A  doctor  in  Tahiti,  who  apprehended  his  early  end, 
gave  his  wife  a  vial  of  medicine,  which  she  carried 
sewn  in  her  dress  for  three  years  to  have  it  handy.  I 
have  a  much-prized  photograph  of  her  on  which  she 
wrote  *Dear  Paul.  This  is  to  remind  you  of  the  days 
when  we  were  so  happy  on  boaxd  of  the  old  Equator.* 
This  gives  me  a  sad  pleasure  in  recalling  the  old 
times  when  the  South  Seas  seemed  to  us  so  much 
brighter  than  now.  Civilization  is  coming  to  the 
natives  at  the  rate  of  geometrical  progression,  and 
soon  their  good  qualities  will  be  swept  away  by  greed 
and  false  education. 

"I  have  the  honor  to  remain, 

Yours  faithfully, 

P.  HOFUCH." 

*  Mr.  HSflich  returned  to  Samcks  a  year  or  two  later  to  remain,  and 
was  always  a  valued  friend  of  the  Stevensons. 


162     LIFE  OF  MRS.   R.   L.  STEVENSON 

That  the  voyage  was  a  rough  one  is  clear  from  Mr. 
Stevenson's  description  in  a  letter  to  Sir  Sidney 
Colvin: 

"On  board  the  Equator,  190  miles  off  Samoa.  We 
are  just  nearing  the  end  of  our  long  cruise.  Rain, 
calms,  squalls,  bang — there's  the  fore-topmast  gone; 
rain,  calms,  squalls — away  with  the  staysail;  more 
rain,  more  calms,  more  squalls;  a  prodigious  heavy 
sea  all  the  time,  and  the  Equator  staggering  and  hover- 
ing like  a  swallow  in  a  storm;  and  the  cabin,  a  great 
square,  crowded  with  wet  human  beings,  and  the 
rain  avalanching  on  the  deck,  and  the  leaks  dripping 
everywhere;  Fanny,  in  the  midst  of  fifteen  males, 
bearing  up  wonderfully."  She  rejoiced,  nevertheless, 
that  her  mother-in-law  had  not  accompanied  them  on 
this  voyage,  with  its  extreme  discomfort  and  hard- 
ship, but  adds,  "and  yet  I  would  do  it  all  over  again.'* 

In  the  early  part  of  December,  1889,  they  arrived 
at  the  Na\Tgator  Islands — so  called  by  Bougainville 
because  of  the  skiU  with  which  the  natives  managed 
their  canoes  and  sailed  them  far  out  to  sea — and,  as 
related  above  by  Paul  Hoflich,  dropped  anchor  in 
the  harbour  of  Apia.  They  were  not  especially  at- 
tracted to  this  place  at  first,  the  scenery  being  of  a 
softer  and  less  striking  character  than  that  of  Tahiti, 
but  as  time  passed  the  charm  of  the  place  grew  upon 
them  more  and  more,  and  finally  they  decided  to 
make  it  their  permanent  headquarters  between 
cruises.  To  this  end  they  bought  four  hundred  acres 
in  the  "bush,"  as  the  great  tropical  forests  are  called, 
and  after  making  arrangements  for  the  erection  of  a 
temporary  cabin  during  their  absence,  they  sailed  on 


AWAY  TO  SUNNIER  LANDS  163 

the  steamer  Lubeck  for  Sydney,  with  the  intention  of 
going  on  from  there  for  a  visit  to  England. 

It  was  during  this  stay  in  Sydney  that  Mr.  Ste- 
venson wrote  his  famous  defense  of  Father  Damien. 
When  he  realized  that  its  publication  might  result  in 
a  suit  for  libel  and  the  loss  of  all  he  had  in  the  world, 
he  thought  it  only  right  to  ask  for  a  vote  of  the 
family,  for  without  their  concurrence  he  would  not 
take  such  a  step.  The  vote  was  unanimously  in 
favour  of  the  publication.  When  the  pamphlets  were 
ready,  his  wife,  with  her  son  and  daughter,  set  to  work 
addressing  them  and  sending  them  far  and  wide.  It 
was  certain  that  he  would  not  appeal  in  vain  in  such 
a  matter  to  his  wife,  for  in  their  sympathies  with  the 
unfortunate  and  unjustly  used  they  were  as  one. 

Their  hopes  of  going  to  England,  based  on  the  long 
respite  of  eighteen  months  during  which  Mr.  Steven- 
son had  been  free  from  hie  old  trouble,  were  dashed 
to  the  ground  by  a  severe  cold  caught  in  Sydney  and 
a  return  of  the  hemorrhages.  His  only  chance  seemed 
to  lie  on  the  sea — in  fact,  the  doctor  said  nothing 
would  save  him  but  the  South  Seas — but  when  his 
wife  went  to  the  water-front  to  secure  passage  she 
found  that,  owing  to  a  sailors'  strike,  only  one  ship, 
the  Janet  Nichol,  an  iron-screw  steamer  of  about  six 
hundred  tons,  was  going  out.  She  went  to  the  owners 
and  asked  to  be  taken,  but  they  refused,  on  the 
ground  that  they  didn't  want  women  on  board. 
Nevertheless  she  went  right  on,  with  pitiful  persis- 
tence, with  her  preparations,  and  finally  had  the  sick 
man  carried  down  to  the  landing-place  and  rowed 
out  to  the  ship.    She  had  won  out,  but  they  received 


164     LIFE  OF  MRS.  R.  L.  STEVENSON 

her  very  reluctantly.  And  such  a  ship !  It  must 
have  looked  fine,  however,  to  Mrs.  Stevenson,  after 
the  Equator,  for  she  writes:  "Think  of  two  bathrooms 
and  only  one  other  passenger  besides  ourselves,  a 
nice  long  wide  deck  to  walk  on,  steam  to  run  away 
from  squalls  with,  and  no  flopping  about  in  calms." 
But  when  her  daughter  went  on  board  to  see  them 
off  she  was  horrified  at  the  sight  of  it — ^black  with 
coal  dust,  manned  by  Solomon  Island  "black  boys,'* 
and  just  as  they  stepped  on  deck  Tin  Jack  (Jack 
Buckland*)  came  up  the  gangway  drunk  and  fell  off 
into  the  water.  It  was  pandemonium,  but  very  ex- 
citing, and  in  the  midst  of  it  Mrs.  Stevenson  was 
calmly  looking  after  her  husband  and  keeping  up  a 
smiling,  courageous  face. 

As  soon  as  they  were  at  sea  Louis  recovered,  and 
after  stopping  off  at  Apia  for  a  look  at  their  new 
property,  they  went  the  rounds  of  the  "low  islands," 
visiting  thirty-three  in  all.  Although  they  confessed 
to  a  certain  monotony  in  these  islands,  their  adven- 
tures, of  which  Mrs.  Stevenson  kept  a  regular  diary, 
were  many  and  exciting.  These  notes  were  written 
for  her  husband's  benefit,  but  as  it  happened  that  he 
made  but  slight  use  of  them,  she  prepared  them  for 
publication  herself  in  a  volume  called  The  Cruise  of 
the  Janet  Nichol.  "This  diary,"  she  says  in  her 
preface,  "was  written  under  the  most  adverse  condi- 
tions— sometimes  on  the  damp  up-turned  bottom  of 
a  canoe  or  whale-boat,  sometimes  when  lying  face 
downward  on  the  burning  sands  of  the  tropic  beach, 

*  Tin  is  the  equivalent  in  the  islands  for  Mr.  Jack  Buckland  was  the 
living  original  of  Tommy  Haddon  in  The  Wrecker. 


AWAY  TO  SUNNIER  LANDvS  165 

often  in  copra  sheds  in  the  midst  of  a  pandemonium 
of  noise  and  confusion,  but  oftener  on  board  tlie  roll- 
ing Janet,  whose  pet  name  was  the  Jumping  Jenny, 
but  never  in  comfortable  surroundings." 

It  was  on  this  voyage,  during  which  they  were  well 
tossed  about  by  the  frisky  Janet,  that  the  ship  was 
set  on  fire  by  the  spontaneous  combustion  of  some 
fireworks  in  one  of  the  cabins.  In  the  midst  of  the 
excitement  some  native  sailors  were  seen  by  Mrs. 
Stevenson  about  to  toss  overboard  a  blazing  trunk. 
She  stopped  them  in  time  and  was  thankful  to  dis- 
cover that  she  had  saved  all  her  husband's  manu- 
scripts. 

At  the  end  of  the  cruise,  from  which  his  health  did 
not  benefit  as  much  as  had  been  hoped,  they  returned 
to  Sydney,  meeting  there  a  reception  which,  while 
irritating  enough  at  the  time,  afterwards  afforded 
them  much  amusement.  They  went  directly  from 
the  sliip  to  the  most  fashionable  hotel,  but,  not  being 
known  there,  their  queer  appearance,  with  their 
Tokalu  buckets,  mats,  shells,  straw  hats,  etc.,  brought 
upon  them  a  severe  snubbing.  Then  they  went  to 
the  Oxford,  a  little  old  inn  on  George  Street,  where 
they  were  courteously  received  and  given  the  whole 
first  floor,  without  being  asked  to  show  their  creden- 
tials. The  next  morning  every  paper  in  Sydney  had 
their  names  on  the  front  page,  and  all  the  clubs, 
societies,  churches,  and  schools  sent  cards  to  the  fine 
hotel,  whose  proprietor  had  to  send  a  messenger  three 
times  a  day  to  the  Oxford  with  a  basketful  of  letters 
for  the  Stevensons.  The  proprietor,  now  aware  of 
what  he  had  done,  came  in  great  chagrin  to  beg  them 


166     LIFE  OF  ]\IRS.  R.  L.  STEVENSON 

to  come  back,  and  offered  them  the  rooms  for  half 
price — for  nothing — but  they  refused;  and,  besides, 
they  were  too  comfortable  at  the  Oxford  to  be  willing 
to  leave.  After  that,  whenever  Mrs.  Stevenson  went 
to  Sydney  she  always  stayed  at  the  Oxford,  for  she 
was  always  loyal  to  those  who  showed  her  considera- 
tion. 

During  their  stay  in  Sydney  at  this  time  Mr.  Ste- 
venson was  so  ill  that  he  was  compelled  to  keep  his 
room,  and  all  thought  of  a  return  to  England  was 
now  definitely  abandoned.  Plans  were  set  on  foot  for 
establishing  a  permanent  residence  in  Samoa,  and 
while  Lloyd  Osbourne  went  to  England  to  bring  the 
furniture  from  Skerryvore,  the  Stevensons  returned 
to  Apia  and  camped  in  a  gate  lodge  on  their  place 
until  the  new  house  should  be  built. 


CHAPTER  Vin 
THE  HAPPY  YEARS  IN  SAMOA 

It  was  in  Samoa  that  the  word  "home"  first  began 
to  have  a  real  meaning  for  these  gypsy  wanderers, 
lured  on  as  they  had  been  half  round  the  world  in 
their  quest  of  the  will-o'-the-wisp,  health.  Having 
bought  the  land,  which  lay  on  rising  ground  about 
three  miles  from  the  town  of  Apia,  it  was  then  neces- 
sary to  find  the  money  to  build  a  house  on  it.  After 
some  thought,  Mrs.  Stevenson  suggested  that  they 
might  sell  Skerryvore  in  England,  and  thus  turn  the 
one  house  directly  into  the  other.  As  Skerryvore 
had  been  a  gift  to  her  from  her  father-in-law,  Louis 
said,  "But  this  money  is  yours,'*  and  he  then  said  he 
would  make  it  all  right  by  leaving  her  the  Samoan 
place  in  his  will,  which  he  did,  "with  all  that  it  con- 
tained." 

The  next  thing  was  to  choose  a  name,  and  they 
finally  decided  upon  the  native  word  Vailiraa,*  mean- 
ing "five  waters,"  in  reference  to  a  stream  fed  by 
four  tributaries  that  ran  through  the  place. 

Without  more  ado  they  plunged  eagerly  into  the 
business  of  clearing  the  forest  and  building  their  house 
— a  task  for  which  Fanny  Stevenson,  by  taste  and 
early  training,  was  supremely  fitted.  She  wrote  at 
once  to  her  mother-in-law  in  Scotland,  saying:  "Come 

*  Pronounced  Vyleema. 
167 


168     LIFE  OF  MRS.   R.   L.   STEVENSON 

when  you  like.  Even  if  we  make  a  temporary  shelter 
you  need  not  be  so  very  uncomfortable.  The  only 
question  is  the  food  problem,  and  if  in  six  months  I 
cannot  have  a  garden  producing  and  fowls  and  pigs 
and  cows  it  will  be  strange  to  me."  In  all  this  she 
took  a  high  delight,  for,  like  a  true  pioneer,  she  found 
more  pleasure  in  the  doing  of  a  task  than  in  the  thing 
finished.  When  the  house  or  garden  or  what-not 
was  done,  and  there  was  nothing  left  but  to  admire,  a 
great  part  of  the  interest  in  it  was  gone  for  her.  At 
VaUima  she  had  almost  a  virgin  field  for  her  garden- 
ing activities,  and  her  "Dutch  blood"  rejoiced  within 
her.  In  the  old  California  days  her  husband,  in  his 
humorous  way,  had  called  her  "the  forty-niner,"  but 
now,  as  he  watched  her,  flitting  in  her  blue  dress,  like 
a  witch,  in  all  parts  of  the  plantation,  directing,  ex- 
postulating, and  working  with  her  hands  when  words 
failed,  he  called  her  "my  little  blue  bogie  planter." 
Writing  to  Miss  Taylor,  he  says:  "111  or  well,  rain  or 
shine,  a  little  blue  indefatigable  figure  is  to  be  ob- 
served howking  about  certain  patches  of  garden.  She 
comes  in  heated  and  bemired  up  to  the  eyebrows, 
late  for  every  meal.   .   .   ." 

The  place  they  had  bought  was  not  precisely  in 
the  "bush,"  as  the  unbroken  forest  is  called  in  those 
lands,  for  it  had  once  been  partly  imder  cultivation; 
but  it  needs  only  a  short  season  of  neglect  for  the 
devouring  jungle  to  sweep  over  and  obliterate  aU 
traces  of  the  handiwork  of  man.  To  all  intents  they 
began  anew  to  clear  out  a  place  for  their  house  and 
garden,  in  the  midst  of  the  great  silent  forest,  "where 
one  might  hear  the  babbling  of  a  burn  close  by,  and 


THE  HAPPY  YEARS  IN  SAMOA       169 

the  birds,  and  the  sea  breaking  on  the  coast  three 
miles  away  and  six  hundred  feet  below."  The  days 
were  "fine  like  heaven;  such  a  blue  of  the  sea,  such 
green  of  the  trees,  and  such  crimson  of  the  hibiscus 
flowers  were  never  dreamed  of;  and  the  air  as  mild 
and  gentle  as  a  baby's  breath — and  yet  not  hot." 

"The  scenery,"  writes  Mrs.  Stevenson  to  Miss 
Boodle,  "is  simply  enchanting;  here  a  cliff,  there  a 
dashing  little  river,  yonder  a  waterfall,  here  a  great 
gorge  slashed  through  the  hillside,  and  everywhere  a 
vegetation  that  baflSes  description.  Our  only  work- 
men are  cannibals  from  other  islands  and  so-called 
savages — though  I  have  never  yet  met  one  man 
whom  that  word  described  accurately.  I  have  with 
me  [on  the  steamer  Lubeck,  on  the  way  from  Sydney 
to  Samoa]  a  cageful  of  beautiful  yellow  fowls,  a  big 
black  mother  sow  is  to  follow,  and  soon  I  mean  to  have 
some  pretty  Jersey  cows  and  some  gentle  horses.  I 
have  packages  of  garden  seeds  to  experiment  with, 
and  it  is  odd  indeed  if  I  am  not  able  soon  to  provision 
a  garrison.  One  of  the  first  things  I  shall  plunge  into 
is  an  ice-house  run  by  cascade  power." 

At  first  they  lived  in  a  two-room  cottage,  designed 
to  serve  later  as  a  gate  lodge,  where  comfort  was  at  a 
minimum.  The  road  to  Apia  was  scarcely  more  than 
a  footpath,  and  it  was  diflScult  to  bring  up  supplies 
in  any  quantity.  At  times  provisions  ran  low,  and 
the  story  of  the  occasion  when  they  were  reduced  to 
dining  on  a  single  avocado*  pear  was  told  so  often,  in 
print  and  otherwise,  that  during  all  the  following 
time  of  plenty  they  had  to  keep  explaining  that  they 

*  Commonly  called  "alligator"  pear. 


170     LIFE  OF  MRS.   R.   L.  STEVENSON 

really  had  enough  to  eat.  Of  course  the  famine  was 
more  apparent  than  real,  for  there  was  enough  food 
at  the  town  only  three  miles  away,  and  the  occasional 
dearth  in  those  first  days  was  merely  a  matter  of  the 
inconvenience  of  bringing  it  up. 

It  was  in  the  hurricane  season,  too,  and  there  were 
days  when  they  sat  in  momentary  fear  lest  their  frail 
dwelling  should  be  carried  away  by  the  fury  of  the 
storm  or  crushed  beneath  some  falling  giant  of  the 
forest. 

From  the  day  of  their  arrival  at  Vailima,  in  Sep- 
tember, 1890,  Mrs.  Stevenson  began  to  keep  a  diary 
— a  record  which  has  proved  to  be  one  of  the  most 
valuable  sources  of  material  in  writing  her  biography, 
and  which  itself  has  a  curious  history.  When,  after 
her  husband's  death,  she  finally  left  Vailima,  the  diary 
was  inadvertently  left  behind,  eventually  making  its 
way  to  London  and  falling  into  the  hands  of  an 
English  lady,  Miss  Gladys  Peacock,  who,  thinking  it 
might  be  of  some  use  to  the  family,  sent  it  to  Lloyd 
Osbourne,  with  a  note  saying  that  "of  course  she  had 
not  read  it."  It  is  to  the  courtesy  of  this  English- 
woman that  I  am  indebted  for  the  extracts  from  the 
diary,  of  which  I  shall  make  free  use. 

In  their  temporary  lodge  in  the  wilderness,  where 
they  were  encamped  while  the  big  house  was  building, 
furniture  and  other  comforts  of  civilization  were  de- 
cidedly lacking,  but  they  had  brought  beds  with  them, 
and  Mrs.  Stevenson  at  once  set  the  carpenter  to  put- 
ting them  up.  For  help  about  the  house  and  premises 
they  had  to  depend  on  Paul  Einfiirer,  the  German 
pantryman  from  the  Lubeck,  who  had  come  up  and 


THE  HAPPY  YEARS  IN  SAMOA       171 

asked  for  work.  He  was  good-natured  but  clumsy, 
and  spoke  so  little  English  that  it  was  difficult  to 
communicate  with  him.  The  natives  employed  in 
clearing  and  planting  knew  only  Samoan,  and  Mrs. 
Stevenson  often  found  it  necessary  to  instruct  them 
by  doing  the  work  with  her  own  hands.  Writing 
humorously  of  her  troubles  to  Sir  Sidney  Colvin,  her 
husband  says:  "Fanny  was  to  have  rested;  blessed 
Paul  began  making  a  duck  house;  she  let  him  be;  tlie 
duck  house  fell  down,  and  she  had  to  set  her  hand  to 
it.  He  was  then  to  make  a  drinking  place  for  the 
pigs;  she  let  be  again,  and  he  made  a  stair  by  which 
the  pigs  will  probably  escape  this  evening,  and  she 
was  near  weeping.  .  .  .  Then  she  had  to  cook  the 
dinner;  then,  of  course,  like  a  fool  and  a  woman,  must 
wait  dinner  for  me  and  make  a  flurry  of  herself.  Her 
day  so  far."  Again  he  writes:  "The  guid  wife  had 
bread  to  bake,  and  she  baked  it  in  a  pan,  O !  But 
between  whiles  she  was  down  with  me  weeding  sensi- 
tive* in  the  paddocl<:.  Our  dinner — tlie  lowest  we 
have  ever  been — consisted  of  an  avocado  pear  between 
Fanny  and  me,  a  ship's  biscuit  for  the  guid  man, 
white  bread  for  the  missis,  and  red  wine  for  the  twa; 
no  salt  horse,  even,  in  all  Vailima !" 

On  the  last  trip  from  Sydney  Mrs.  Stevenson  had 
brought  all  sorts  of  seeds  with  her- — tomatoes,  beans, 
alfalfa,  melons,  and  a  dozen  others — and  she  went 
about  the  place  dropping  them  in  wherever  she 
thought  they  would  grow.  Some  difficulties  peculiar 
to  the  tropics  had  to  be  met  and  conquered.     For  in- 

*  They  had  a  terrible  time  with  the  sensitive  plant,  which  had  become 
a  pest  there  and  grew  almost  faster  than  they  could  weed  it  out. 


172     LIFE  OF  IMRS.   R.   L.  STEVENSON 

stance,  rats  ate  out  the  inside  of  the  melons  as  soon 
as  they  were  ripe,  and  it  became  necessary  to  put  out 
poison.  A  beginning  had  been  made  in  the  way  of 
live  stock,  of  which  she  says:  "We  have  three  pigs — 
one  fine  imported  boar  and  two  slab-sided  sows. 
They  dwell  in  a  large  circular  enclosure,  which, 
with  its  stone  walls,  looks  like  an  ancient  fortifica- 
tion." 

These  same  swine  became  the  torment  of  their  lives, 
for  some  of  the  devils  said  to  haunt  Vailima  seemed 
to  have  entered  into  them,  and  no  sty  could  be  made 
strong  enough  to  restrain  them. 

In  clearing  away  the  dense  growth  on  the  site  of 
their  projected  house  they  were  careful  to  preserve 
the  best  of  the  native  plants.  "The  trees  that  have 
been  left  standing  in  the  clearing,"  says  the  diary, 
"are  of  immense  size,  really  majestic,  with  creepers 
winding  about  their  trunks  and  orchids  growing  in 
the  forks  of  their  branches.  These  great  trees  are 
alive  with  birds,  which  chatter  at  certain  hours  of 
the  night  and  morning  with  rich,  throaty  voices. 
Though  they  do  not  exactly  sing,  tlie  sound  they 
make  is  very  musical  and  pretty.  Yesterday  Ben 
[the  man  of  all  work]  took  his  gun  and  went  into  the 
bush  to  shoot.  He  returned  with  some  small  birds 
like  parrots,  which  were  almost  bursting  with  fat.  I 
felt  some  compunction  about  eating  birds  that  sug- 
gested cages  and  swings  and  stands,  but  as  we 
had  nothing  else  to  eat  was  fain  to  cook  them, 
and  a  very  excellent  dish  they  made.  I  have  read 
somewhere  that  the  dodo  and  a  relative  of  his 
called  the  'tooth-billed  pigeon'  are  still  to  be  found 


THE  HAPPY  YEARS  IN  SAMOA       173 

on  this  island.  It  would  be  delightful  to  possess  a 
pet  dodo."* 

Although  their  stay  in  the  little  lodge  was  to  be 
but  temporary,  it  was  like  her  to  set  to  work  to  make 
it  a  pleasant  abode  even  for  the  short  time  that  they 
were  to  be  there.  "What  we  most  dislike  about  our 
house,'*  she  says,  *'is  the  chilly,  death-like  aspect  of 
the  colors  in  which  it  is  painted — black  and  white 
and  lead-color.  So  we  unearthed  from  our  boxes 
some  pieces  of  iapa^  in  rich  shades  of  brown  and 
nailed  them  on  the  walls,  using  pieces  of  another  pat- 
tern for  bordering,  and  at  once  the  whole  appearance 
of  the  room  was  changed.  Over  the  door  connecting 
the  two  rooms  we  fastened  a  large  flat  piece  of  pink 
coral,  a  present  given  me  by  Captain  Reid  when  we 
were  on  the  Equator.  We  have  had  the  carpenter 
put  up  shelves  in  one  corner  of  the  room  and  on  two 
sides  of  one  of  the  windows.  I  also  had  him  nail 
some  boards  together  in  the  form  of  a  couch,  upon 
which  I  have  laid  a  mattress  covered  by  a  shawl.  On 
the  table  an  old  pink  cloth  is  spread,  and  when  we 
light  the  lamp  and  set  the  little  Japanese  burner  to 
smoking  buhach — for,  alas,  there  are  mosquitoes — 
we  feel  quite  snug  and  homelike. 

"The  pig  house,  a  most  unsightly  thing,  is  finished, 
and  a  creeper  or  two  will  soon  disguise  its  ugliness. 

*  "The  one  surviving  sf>ecies  of  dodo,  the  manume'a,  a  bird  about  the 
size  of  a  small  moor-hen,  exists  in  Samoa.  It  has  only  recovered  its  pres- 
ent feeble  powers  of  flight  since  cats  were  introduced  in  the  island.  Its 
dark  flesh  is  extremely  delicious." — From  Balfour's  Life  of  Robert  Louis 
Stevenson. 

ITapa  is  a  cloth  made  of  vegetable  fibre  and  stained  in  various  strik- 
ing patterns.  It  is  used  by  the  natives  for  clothing,  curtains,  beds,  and 
uauy  other  purposes. 


174     LIFE  OF  MRS.  R.   L.   STEVENSON 

There  seem  to  be  a  great  number  of  mummy  apples* 
springing  up  through  the  clearing,  of  which  I  am  glad 
for  the  sake  of  the  prospective  cow.  Paul  and  I  have 
planted  out  a  lot  of  kidney  potatoes,  which  is  an 
experiment  only,  as  they  are  not  supposed  to  grow  in 
Samoa.  We  have  sowed  tomato  seeds,  also  arti- 
chokes and  eggplants,  in  boxes.  A  few  days  ago  Mr. 
Caruthers  sent  us  half  a  dozen  very  fine  pineapples, 
and  as  fast  as  we  eat  them  we  plant  the  tops. 

''October  6.  I  have  been  too  busy  to  write  before. 
Much  has  been  accomplished.  A  good  lot  of  sweet 
corn  is  planted,  besides  peas,  onions,  lettuce,  and  rad- 
ishes. Lima  beans  are  coming  up,  and  some  of  the 
cantaloupes.  Mr.  Caruthers  has  brought  a  root  of 
mint  and  some  cuttings  of  granadilla,t  which  have 
been  set  out  along  the  arbor.  It  seems  absolutely 
impossible  to  get  anything  sent  up  to  us  from  Apia. 
Lists  and  notes  go  flying,  but,  except  from  Krause 
the  butcher,  with  no  results.  It  seems  an  odd  thing 
that  there  should  not  be  a  spade  or  a  rake  for  sale 
in  a  town  where  there  would  be  no  difficulty  in  find- 
ing the  best  quality  of  champagne,  to  say  notliing  of 
all  the  materials  for  mixed  drinks.  We  have  almost 
starved  for  want  of  provisions  until  yesterday,  when 
Ben  killed  a  couple  of  fowls,  a  large  piece  of  meat 
came  from  town,  Paul  shot  two  pigeons,  and  Mr. 
Blacklock  came  with  fresh  tomatoes.  Afterwards 
Ben  came  with  palusami,J  and  now  to-day  comes  a 
young  native  girl  from  Mrs.  Blacklock  with  enormous 
bananas,  long  green  beans,  a  dozen  eggs,  and  a  bunch 

*  The  papaw.  t  A  tropical  fruit. 

X  A  Dative  dish  of  taro  topti  aud  cocoauut. 


THE  HAPPY  YEARS  IN  SAMOA       175 

of  flowers,  and  Ben  has  come  in  with  eight  little  par- 
rots.    It  seems  either  a  feast  or  a  famine  with  us. 

"October  7.  Last  night  it  rained  heavily,  which  was 
good  for  my  plants,  but,  as  our  kitchen  is  some  six 
or  eight  yards  from  the  house,  cooking  became  a  series 
of  adventures.  I  had  set  a  sponge  for  bread  last 
night,  and  was  most  anxious  to  bake  the  dough  early 
in  the  day.  A  black  boy  was  sent  to  the  carpenter 
for  a  moulding  board,  and,  placing  it  on  a  chair  on 
the  back  veranda,  I  knelt  on  the  floor  with  a  shawl 
over  my  head  to  keep  the  rain  off  and  made  up  the 
loaves.  In  making  the  dough  I  was  successful,  but 
the  attempt  to  bake  it  almost  sent  me  into  hysterics. 
With  an  umbrella  over  my  head  I  ran  to  the  kitchen, 
but  found,  to  my  dismay,  that  all  the  wood  was 
soaked,  and  the  wind  drove  the  smoke  back  into  the 
stove,  which  thereupon  belched  forth  acrid  clouds  from 
every  opening.  Paul  ran  down  to  where  the  carpen- 
ter had  been  working,  and  returned  with  a  boxful  of 
chips  which  we  dried  on  top  of  the  stove,  swallowing 
volumes  of  smoke  as  we  did  so.  Then  I  called  Ben 
and  showed  him  how  to  nail  up  the  half  of  a  tin  kero- 
sene can  over  the  opening  of  the  pipe  to  screen  it 
from  the  wind.  That  helped  a  little,  but  the  rain 
beat  in  on  the  stove,  and,  though  we  consumed  im- 
mense quantities  of  chips,  it  still  remained  cold. 
Finally  I  made  a  barrier  of  boxes  around  the  stove, 
and  that  brought  a  measure  of  success,  so  that  in 
about  a  couple  of  hours  I  was  able  to  half  bake,  half 
dry  a  fowl  for  luncheon.  By  that  time  the  bread  was 
done  for,  and  I  very  nearly  so.  Paul  and  I  held  a 
council  of  war,  and  decided  to  send  the  boys  down  to 


17(5     LIFE  OF  INIRS.   R.   L.   STEVENSON 

the  pavilion  to  live,  while  we  took  their  room  for  a 
kitchen  and  dining-room,  one  end  serving  for  the  one 
and  the  other  end  for  the  other,  somewhat  after  the 
fashion  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Boffin's  room  in  Our  Mutual 
Friend. 

"There  were  two  mango  trees  among  the  plants 
sent  up  by  Mr.  Caruthers,  and  I  was  surprised  to  see 
among  them  also  a  shrub  that  is  the  pest  of  Tahiti 
and  will  become  so  here  if  it  is  planted.  In  the  after- 
noon, the  rain  being  then  only  a  high  mist,  SimUe 
and  I  began  to  set  out  the  things.  \MiLle  busy  at 
this  I  saw  three  or  four  beautiful  young  men,  followed 
by  a  troop  of  dogs,  pass  along  our  road  towards  the 
bush.  I  have  seldom  seen  more  graceful,  elegant 
creatures  than  these  fellows.  They  carried  large 
knives  and  axes,  wore  hats  of  fresh  green  banana 
leaves,  and  also  carried  large  banana  leaves  as  um- 
brellas to  keep  off  the  rain.  With  a  friendly  tofa 
[farewell]  oti  either  side,  they  went  their  way.  After 
we  had  planted  all  the  roots  and  taken  a  little  rest, 
Simile  and  I  took  a  hoe  and  pickaxe  and  finished  the 
afternoon  sowing  Indian  corn.  I  asked  Simile  while 
we  were  planting  which  was  the  best  season  for  such 
work,  meaning  the  wet,  dry,  or  intermediate  time. 
'We  Samoans,'  he  answered,  *  always  go  by  the  moon. 
Unless  we  plant  in  the  time  of  the  big  round  moon 
we  expect  no  fruit.' 

"I  thought  one  of  my  yellow  hens  wanted  to  sit, 
and  that  it  would  be  the  proper  thing  to  provide  her 
with  eggs.  To  identify  the  eggs  from  fresh  ones  I 
made  a  black  pencil  mark  around  each  one.  After 
all   was  finished  I  retired  from  the  henhouse  and 


THE  HAPPY  YEARS  IN  SAMOA       177 

peeped  through  the  palings.  Madam  hen  clucked  up 
to  the  nest,  as  I  had  always  seen  hens  do,  but  at  the 
sight  of  the  marked  eggs  she  started  back  in  a  sort  of 
surprise  and  alarm.  'What's  the  matter?'  cried  the 
two  cocks,  stretching  wide  legs  as  they  hastened  to 
the  spot.  They,  too,  started  back,  just  as  the  hen 
had  done,  held  a  hurried  consultation  and  finally  ven- 
tured to  touch  the  eggs  with  their  beaks.  By  this 
time  all  the  five  yellow  hens  had  gathered  round  the 
nest,  and  pretty  soon  all  the  others  were  craning  their 
necks  to  gaze  at  tlie  marvel.  After  the  cocks  had 
poked  the  eggs  about  a  little  with  their  beaks  the  hens 
went  nearer  and  tried  to  peck  off  the  black  marks. 
All  the  time  there  was  a  great  hubbub  of  anxious 
conversation.  The  next  morning  more  than  half  the 
eggs  had  been  destroyed,  and  to  save  those  that  were 
left  I  had  to  remove  them." 

Exploring  their  new  estate  was  one  of  their  most 
exciting  and  at  tlie  same  time  laborious  occupations, 
for  most  of  the  land  was  so  densely  overgrown  that 
it  was  necessary  to  carry  a  bush  knife  with  which  to 
cut  a  path  as  they  went,  and,  moreover,  unexpected 
dangers  lurked  in  the  beautiful  ferny  depths.  "Louis 
and  I  went  up  to  see  the  banana  patch,"  says  the 
diary,  "Louis  carrying  a  knife  to  clear  the  road.  For 
a  little  way  we  followed  a  fairly  open  path  that  had 
previously  been  cleared  by  Louis,  but  by  and  by  it 
began  to  close  up  and  become  treacherously  boggy 
underfoot.  Several  times  we  were  ankle-deep  in 
mud  and  water,  and  Louis  had  to  slash  down  the  tall 
vegetation  that  obstructed  our  way.  Before  long  he 
cried  out:  'Behold  your  banana  patch!'     And  there 


178     LIFE  OF  IVIRS.  R.   L.  STEVENSON 

It  was,  sure  enough — a  great  number  of  sturdy,  thick- 
set young  plants,  many  with  bunches  of  fruit  hanging 
above  the  strange  purple  flower  of  the  plant,  choked 
with  a  rank  undergrowth  and  set  with  the  roots  in 
sluggishly  running  water.  Here  and  there  the  gigan- 
tic leaves  of  the  great  taro*  spread  out — a  dark,  shin- 
ing green.  It  was  too  much  for  Louis,  who  fell  to 
clearing  on  the  spot,  while  I  went  on  to  the  end  of 
the  plantation.  Once  or  twice  I  was  nearly  stuck 
in  the  bog,  but  managed  to  drag  myself  from  the 
ooze  by  clinging  to  a  strong  plant.  After  a  while 
Louis  called  out  to  me  as  though  in  answer,  and  I 
hurried  back  to  him.  "\Mien  I  came  up  he  said  he  had 
mistaken  the  cry  of  a  bird  for  my  voice  and  supposed 
I  had  lost  the  path.  I  helped  him  a  little  while  pull- 
ing up  the  smaller  weeds,  but  was  in  mortal  terror  of 
touching  a  poisonous  creeper  whose  acquaintance  I 
had  already  made  and  whose  marks  I  still  bear.  It 
went  to  my  heart  to  dig  up  and  destroy  the  most 
lovely  specimens  of  ferns  I  have  ever  seen,  but  I  did 
it  bravely,  though  I  determined  to  return  some  day 
and  make  a  collection  of  them.  Some  of  the  more 
delicate  climbing  ferns  were  magnificent.  Occasion- 
ally as  I  drew  out  a  plant  the  air  around  me  was 
filled  with  the  perfume  of  its  bruised  leaves.  It  was 
entrancing  work,  though  we  were  soaked  with  mud 
and  water,  but  before  very  long  my  head  began  to 
swim,  and  I  proposed  to  go  back  to  the  house  and  see 
about  some  sort  of  food.  I  just  managed  to  get  a 
meal  prepared  and  then  gave  out  utterly,  for  my  beau- 
tiful banana  swamp  had  given  me  a  fever  with  a  most 

*  A  tropical  plant  with  an  edible  root. 


THE  HAPPY  YEARS  IN  SAMOA       179 

alarming  promptitude.  I  could  not  sleep  all  night, 
but  kept  waking  with  a  start,  my  heart  and  pulses 
bounding,  and  my  head  aching  miserably.  This 
morning  Louis  gave  me  a  dose  of  quinine,  which  soon 
helped  me. 

"The  pigs  had  to  be  watered  when  we  came  back 
from  the  perfidious  swamp,  but  how  to  manage  it 
I  could  not  see.  Paul  was  ill,  Simile  was  gone,  and 
I  feared  it  might  be  dangerous  for  Louis  to  lift  pails 
of  water.  I  walked  round  and  round  the  stone  wall 
of  their  fortification,  but  it  seemed  unclimbable  and 
impenetrable.  I  might  have  got  over  myself,  but 
could  not  manage  the  pailful,  also.  Finally  I  thought 
of  a  boy,  the  son  of  a  neighbor,  who  had  come  to  visit 
Paul,  and  persuaded  him  to  undertake  the  task  of 
watering  the  pigs.  The  next  day  I  discovered  that 
he  had  simply  poured  the  water  over  the  wall  upon 
the  ground,  and  my  poor  pigs  had  gone  thirsty  all 
night.  I  cannot  think  that  is  the  sort  of  son  to 
help  a  pioneer. 

"In  the  midst  of  all  this  Louis  wished  to  go  down 
to  Apia.  It  took  all  six  of  the  boys  to  catch  the 
pony,  and  in  the  meantime  Louis  was  having  a  des- 
perate struggle  to  find  his  clothes  and  dress.  I  was 
in  a  dazed  state  with  fever  and  quinine  and  could  not 
help  him  at  all.  At  last  he  got  away,  in  what  sort  of 
garb  I  tremble  to  think,  and  he  was  hardly  out  of 
sight  before  I  discovered  all  the  things  he  had  been 
in  search  of — in  their  right  places,  naturally." 

Eternal  vigflance  was  the  price  of  any  progress 
made  in  her  gardening,  for  the  moment  her  eyes  were 
taken  off  the  workmen  they  committed  some  pro- 


180     LIFE  OF  ISIRS.   R.   L.   STEVENSON 

vokliig  blunder  that  often  undid  the  work  of  weeks. 
"As  all  the  men  were  off  with  the  cart,"  she  writes, 
"I  thought  I  might  as  well  let  Ben  plant  corn,  which 
he  assured  me  he  understood  perfectly,  for  had  he 
not  planted  all  the  first  lot  which  had  failed  through 
the  depredations  of  the  rats?  At  about  three  Simile 
and  I  went  down  to  put  in  some  pumpkin  seeds  among 
the  corn,  and,  to  my  disgust,  I  saw  why  the  first  lot 
of  corn  had  failed.  Ben's  idea  of  planting  was  to 
scrape  a  couple  of  inches  off  the  ground,  drop  in  a 
handful  of  corn,  and  then  kick  a  few  leaves  over  the 
grains.  It  is  really  wonderful  that  any  at  all  should 
have  germinated. 

"While  we  were  working  Sitioni*  came  up  with 
some  pineapple  plants.  He  said  the  people  were 
fighting  in  Tutuila,  but  he  did  not  think  it  would 
come  to  war  here.  He  showed  me  a  large  pistol  fast- 
ened round  his  waist  by  a  cartridge  belt,  and  tried 
to  shoot  a  flying  bat  with  it,  but  failed.  Simile  told 
me  that  the  vampire  bat,  or  flying  fox,  as  they  call  it 
here,  is  good  to  eat,  but  I  do  not  think  I  could  eat 
bat.  My  lady  pig  from  Sydney  is  at  Apia,  but  as 
she  only  cost  thirty-seven  shillings  I  feel  doubts  as  to 
ier  quality.     Still,  in  Samoa  a  pig's  a  pig. 

''Next  day.  The  pig  is  a  very  small,  very  common 
pig,  but  nevertheless  I  had  the  boys  make  a  special 
sty  for  her.  The  old  cock  is  really  too  bad.  Every 
time  an  egg  is  laid  he  strikes  his  bill  into  it,  and, 
throwing  it  on  the  ground,  calls  his  harem  to  a  can- 
nibal feast.  Something,  either  the  rats  or  a  wild 
hen,  has  destroyed  all  our  corn.'* 

*  Sitioni  was  a  chief,  later  known  as  Amatua,  fi,  name  of  higher  rank. 
We  shall  hear  of  Amatua  again  at  the  very  end  of  \he  story. 


THE  HAPPY  YEARS  IN  SAMOA       181 

Perhaps  no  other  part  of  their  life  in  Samoa  was 
so  full  of  happiness  for  them  as  these  first  days — just 
those  two  alone,  for  the  presence  of  their  child-like 
native  helpers  counted  as  naught — with  all  the  sur- 
roundings yet  in  a  primitive  state  and  little  to  remind 
them  of  the  sophisticated  world  from  which  they  had 
been  glad  to  escape.  Both  were  natural-born  children 
of  the  wild.  In  the  brief  tropical  twilight  they  often 
walked  together  and  talked  of  the  beautiful  future 
they  thought  tliey  saw  stretching  out  before  them. 

"Last  night,"  so  runs  the  diary,  "Louis  and  I 
walked  up  and  down  the  path  behind  the  house.  The 
air  was  soft  and  warm,  but  not  too  warm,  and  filled 
with  the  most  delicious  fragrance.  These  perfumes 
of  the  tropic  forest  are  wonderful.  When  I  am  pulling 
weeds  it  often  happens  that  a  puff  of  the  sweetest 
scent  blows  back  to  me  as  I  cast  away  a  handful  of 
w41d  plants.  I  believe  I  have  discovered  the  ylaug- 
ylang  tree,  about  which  there  has  been  so  much  mys- 
tery. Simile  tells  me  that  one  of  the  priests  distils 
perfume  from  the  same  tree.  It  does  not  grow  very 
large  and  has  a  delicate  leaf  of  a  tender  shade  of 
green,  with  the  flowers,  of  a  greenish  white,  in  racemes. 
The  natives  often  use  these  flowers  to  mix  in  their 
wreaths." 

Every  paradise  has  its  drawbacks,  and  though 
ferocious  wild  beasts  and  poisonous  snakes  are  absent 
from  that  fortunate  island,  yet  there  were  many 
small  creatures  dwelling  in  the  neighbouring  jungle 
that  sometimes  made  their  presence  known  in  dis- 
concerting ways.  Of  one  of  these  she  writes:  "We 
were  driven  out  of  the  house  by  a  tree  frog  of  sten- 
torian voice,  which  was  hidden  in  a  tree  near  the 


182     LIFE  OF  MRS.   R.   L.   STEVENSON 

front  veranda  and  made  a  noise  like  a  saw  being  filed, 
only  fifty  times  louder.  It  actually  shook  the  drums 
of  my  ears.  ...  I  had  to  stop  just  here  to  show 
Paul  how  to  tie  a  knot  that  would  not  slip.  The  last 
time  IVIr.  Caruthers  was  here  he  found  his  horse  at 
the  point  of  strangulation  from  a  slip  noose  round  its 
neck  as  Paul  had  tethered  it  out  in  the  grass.  .  .  . 
To  return  to  the  tree  frog.  When  we  settled  our- 
selves at  the  table  for  the  evening  what  was  our  hor- 
ror to  hear  a  second  tree  frog  piping  up  just  over  our 
heads  in  the  eaves  of  the  house.  We  poked  at  him 
for  some  time  with  sticks  and  brooms,  and  I  had  a 
guilty  feeling  that  I  had  done  him  a  mortal  injury; 
but  when,  after  we  were  in  bed  and  half  asleep,  he 
started  saw-filing  again,  I  wished  I  had." 

The  hurricane  season  now  came  on,  and  wild  tropic 
storms,  of  a  violence  of  which  they  had  never  before 
dreamed,  beat  on  the  little  house  in  the  clearing  with 
terrifying  fury.  "We  had  a  very  heavy  rainstorm,'* 
the  diary  records,  "with  thunder  and  lightning.  At 
night  the  rain  fell  so  noisily  that  we  could  not  hear 
each  other  speak,  and  it  seemed  as  though  the  house 
must  be  crushed  in  by  the  weight  of  water  falling  on 
it.  In  the  middle  of  the  night  Louis  arose,  made  a 
light,  and  fell  to  writing  verses.  I  was  troubled 
about  the  taller  corn — lest  it  be  broken  down  and 
spoiled.  Yet  all  went  well,  for  the  verses  turned  out 
not  badly  and  the  corn  stood  as  straight  as  I  could 
have  wished  it  to  do. 

"The  banana  patch  is  pretty  well  cleared,  but  it  is 
diflScult  to  keep  men  at  work  there.  'Too  many 
devils,   me  'fraid,'  explained  Lafaele  when  he  came 


THE  HAPPY  YEARS  IN  SAMOA       183 

back  sooner  than  I  had  anticipated.  There  are  devils 
everywhere  in  the  bush,  it  is  said;  creatures  that  take 
on  the  semblance  of  man  and  kill  those  with  whom 
they  converse,  but  our  banana  patch  seems  to  be 
exceptionally  cursed  with  the  presence  of  these 
demons." 

Indeed,  to  be  alone  in  the  jungle  is  a  solenm  thing, 
even  for  people  of  stronger  mentality  than  the  super- 
stitious natives.  The  vegetation  is  so  dense  that 
there  are  no  shadows,  and,  the  location  of  the  sun 
being  an  unsolvable  mystery,  one  becomes  affected 
by  a  strange  lost  feeling.  The  loneliness,  the  silence, 
the  impossibility  of  seeing  far  into  the  surrounding 
wall  of  foliage,  all  oppress  the  soul,  and  strange  alarms 
attack  the  most  hardy.  Then  at  night,  when  tliere 
is  no  moon  and  the  darkness  is  thick,  a  phosphorescent 
light,  due  to  decaying  wood,  shines  fearsomely  all 
about  on  the  ground,  so  that  it  seems,  as  Louis  said, 
"like  picking  one's  way  over  the  mouth  of  hell." 
*'We  ourselves,"  writes  Mrs.  Stevenson,  "have  be- 
come infected  with  the  native  fear  of  the  spirits. 
Louis  has  been  cutting  a  path  in  the  bush,  and  he 
confesses  that  the  sight  of  anything  like  a  human 
figure  would  send  him  flying  like  the  wind  with  his 
heart  in  his  mouth.  One  night  the  world  seemed  full 
of  strange  supernatural  noises.  When  Louis  whis- 
pered *  Listen !  What's  that .''  *  I  felt  as  though  cold 
water  had  been  poured  down  my  back,  but  it  was 
only  the  hissing  of  a  fire  in  the  clearing.  The  same 
night  we  were  waked  by  sounds  of  terror  in  the  hen- 
house. Paul,  Louis,  and  I  ran  out  with  one  accord, 
but  could  see  nothing.     In  the  morning  we  found  the 


184     LIFE  OF  MRS.  R.  L.  STEVENSON 

body  of  a  pullet  with  its  heart  torn  out.  Simile  says 
that  the  murderer  is  a  certain  small  and  beautiful 
bird,  but  we  were  quite  in  the  mood  to  believe  it  an 
aiiu:* 

Notwithstanding  the  slow  progress  caused  by  in- 
efficient help  and  the  difficulty  of  getting  materials 
up  the  steep  road  to  their  plantation,  they  could  see 
their  home  gradually  growing  around  them.  Mr. 
Stevenson's  health  was  better  than  it  had  been  since 
their  marriage,  and  a  deep  content  settled  gently  upon 
tlieir  long-harassed  spirits.  Something  of  this  is  re- 
flected in  an  entry  made  in  her  diary  on  a  certain 
beautiful,  still  evening:  "It  is  now  haK-past  eight 
and  very  dark,  for  the  moon  is  not  yet  up  and  the 
sky  is  overcast.  The  air  is  fresh  and  sweetly  damp 
and  redolent  of  many  scented  leaves  and  flowers.  I 
can  hear  the  sea  on  Apia  beach;  the  sound  of  it  is 
regular,  like  hoarse  breathing,  or  even  more  like  the 
rhythmic  purring  of  a  gigantic  cat.  Crickets  and 
tree  frogs  and  innumerable  other  insects  and  small 
beasts  are  chirping  and  pecking  with  various  noises 
that  mingle  harmoniously.  Occasionally  a  bird  calls 
with  a  startling  cry — perhaps  the  very  bird  that  mur- 
dered my  poor  pullet.  When  I  stood  in  the  doorway 
and  looked  in,  the  room  seemed  to  be  glowing  with 
color,  glowing  and  melting,  and  yet  there  is  nothing 
to  go  upon  but  the  tapa  on  the  walls,  the  coral,  the 
pink  and  maroon  window  curtains  of  the  coarsest  cot- 
ton print,  a  ragged  old  ink-spotted  table-cover,  a 
few  print-covered  pillows,  and  the  pandanus  mats  on 
the  floor.  Louis's  books,  with  their  bindings  of  blue 
and  green,   to  say   nothing  of  gold  lettering,   h^p 


THE  HAPPY  YEARS  IN  SAMOA       185 

greatly  on  the  six  shelves,  and  the  two  hava  bowls 
that  I  have  worked  as  hard  to  color  as  a  young  man 
with  his  first  meerschaum  have  taken  on  a  fine  opal- 
escent coating."  This,  of  course,  was  when  they 
were  living  in  the  temporary  quarters  while  the  main 
house  was  being  built. 

The  entry  of  November  15  gives  us  an  amusing 
tale  of  the  horses:  "The  cart  horses,  a  couple  of  large, 
mild-eyed,  gentle,  dappled  grays,  have  arrived  from 
Auckland.  It  was  pleasant  to  see  them  fall  upon  the 
grass  after  their  tedious  sea  voyage.  Just  as  we 
were  tliinking  about  going  to  bed,  an  alarming  noise 
was  heard  from  the  direction  of  the  stable.  It  had 
been  raining  hard  all  day  and  was  still  drizzling. 
The  weeds  on  the  way  to  the  stable  were  up  to  my 
waist  and  dripping  with  water.  The  prospect  was 
not  inviting,  but  we  nobly  marched  out  with  the 
lantern  and  an  umbrella.  As  we  entered  the  enclo- 
sure where  the  stable  stands,  or  rather  stood,  we  be- 
came aware  of  two  large  white  objects  showing  indis- 
tinctly through  the  darkness.  A  little  nearer  and  our 
two  horses  were  looking  us  in  the  face.  They  had 
eaten  the  sides  and  ends  of  their  house  quite  away. 
They  must  have  thought  it  odd  to  be  housed  in  an 
edible  stable.*  When  we  entered  they  received  us 
with  every  sign  of  welcome,  but  we  were  dismayed  to 
find  them  tangled  with  each  other  and  the  wreck  of 
the  partition.  Louis  crawled  in  under  the  big  hairy 
feet,  and,  after  much  labor,  got  one  wet  knot  un- 
tangled, the  horses  meanwhile  smelling  and  nosing 

*  The  stable  was  probably  made  of  paudauua  leaves,  like  the  native 
houses. 


186     LIFE  OF  MRS.  R.   L.   STEVENSON 

about  the  top  of  his  head.  He  said  he  expected  at 
every  moment  to  have  it  bitten  off,  for,  he  argued, 
if  the  horses  found  a  stable  edible,  in  these  outlandish 
parts,  they  might  easily  conceive  the  idea  of  sampling 
the  hostler.  ...  I  am  interrupted  at  this  moment 
by  Simile  at  the  door  to  ask  a  question.  I  wish  I 
could  take  a  photograph  as  he  stands  at  the  door, 
with  the  steady  eyes  of  a  capable  man  of  affairs,  but 
the  dress  of  a  houri;  about  his  loins  he  has  twisted  a 
piece  of  white  cotton;  a  broad  garland  of  drooping 
ferns  passes  over  his  forehead,  crosses  at  the  back 
of  his  head,  and  coming  forward  round  his  neck  is 
fastened  in  a  knot  of  greenery  on  his  breast.  He  is 
rather  a  plain  young  man,  but  he  looks  really  lovely 
just  now,  and  the  incongruous  expression  of  his  eyes 
heightens  the  effect. 

"Yesterday  we  had  a  terrific  storm,  quite  alarming 
to  people  living  in  such  a  vulnerable  abode.  Even 
when  the  weather  is  fair  the  house  shakes  as  though 
it  would  fall  if  any  one  comes  upstairs  rapidly,  and 
the  slight  iron  roof  is  entirely  open  at  the  eaves  to 
catch  any  wind  that  blows.  We  could  not  keep  a 
lamp  burning,  and  the  lantern  kept  for  such  emer- 
gencies having  been  broken  by  Paul,  we  were  in 
semi-darkness.  Late  in  the  afternoon  a  cloud  envel- 
oped us  so  that  we  could  see  no  farther  than  in  a 
London  fog.  From  that  time  the  gale  increased, 
lashing  the  branches  of  the  trees  together,  and  some- 
times twisting  their  trunks  and  throwing  them  to 
the  ground.  We  could  see  the  rain  through  the 
windows  driving  in  layers,  one  sheet  above  another. 
Occasionally  there  was  an  ominous  thrashing  on  the 


THE  HAPPY  YEARS  IN  SAMOA       187 

iron  roof  as  though  the  great  hardwood  tree  alongside 
of  the  house  meant  to  do  us  an  injury.  Water  poured 
in  under  our  ill-fitting  doors,  the  matches  were  too 
damp  to  light,  and  the  general  discomfort  and  sloppi- 
ness  gave  one  quite  the  feeling  of  being  at  sea.  I 
wished  we  might  reef  in  some  of  our  green  tree  sails, 
which  reminded  me  of  Ah  Fu's  terror  of  the  land  and 
longing  to  be  at  sea  in  bad  weather.  Simile  and  his 
boys  are  building  or,  rather,  excavating,  a  hurricane 
refuge.  I  went  to  see  it  yesterday  and  found  it  a 
big  mudhole  with  immense  boulders  heaving  up  from 
the  bottom.  I  advised  the  instant  digging  of  a  ditch 
unless  they  wished  to  use  it  for  a  bathing  pool.  The 
hole  must  be  pretty  well  filled  up  by  to-day,  for  last 
night  the  rain  came  down  in  awful  torrents.  For 
the  last  two  days  the  evening  light  has  been  very 
strange  and  disquieting — a  whitish  glare  in  the  sky, 
the  trees  and  bare  ground  a  burnt-sienna  red,  and 
the  vegetation  a  strong  crude  green  with  a  delicate 
white  bloom.  The  rain  is  still  pouring  and  the  whole 
world  is  damp  and  uncomfortable.'* 

The  hurricanes  were  varied  now  and  then  by  earth- 
quakes, of  which  they  felt  two  distinct  shocks  on 
January  13.  To  add  to  these  discomforts,  tiny  visi- 
tors from  the  jungle  gave  them  many  pin-pricks  of 
annoyance.  "It  is  strange,"  says  the  diary,  "that 
each  night  has  its  separate  plague  of  insects.  The 
mosquitoes,  of  course,  are  always  with  us,  and  Simile's 
hurricane  cellar  has  become  a  fine  breeding  place  for 
them.  But  on  one  night  moths  are  our  torment, 
while  perhaps  the  very  next  night  it  will  be  myriads 
of  small  black  beetles.     At  another  tin^e  the  creatures 


188     LIFE  OF  MRS.  R.   L.   STEVENSON 

may  be  of  a  large  cockshafer  sort,  or  a  dreadful 
square-tailed  thing  that  is  especially  ominous.  To- 
night I  have  had  for  the  first  time  two  sets  of  tor- 
mentors, the  first  being  small  burnished  beetles  of 
the  most  lovely  colors  imaginable.  A  pinkish-bronze 
fellow  lies  on  my  paper  as  I  write;  he  kept  standing 
on  his  head  until  he  died  in  a  fit.  It  seems  a  color 
night,  for  I  now  have  small  silver  moths,  all  of  a  size 
but  with  different  beautiful  markings.  There  are 
also  large  salmon-colored  moths  that  Louis  cannot 
bear  the  sight  of  because  they  are  marked  like  a  skele- 
ton. Perhaps  they  are  a  variety  of  the  death's  head 
moth.  They  are  almost  as  large  as  a  humming-bird, 
and  have  beautiful  eyes  that  glow  in  the  dark  like 
fire." 

Enough  order  had  now  come  out  of  the  first  chaos 
to  encourage  them  to  write  for  the  elder  Mrs.  Steven- 
son. Her  son  went  to  Sydney  to  meet  her,  but  was 
there  taken  very  ill  and  returned  in  that  condition 
with  his  mother  as  nurse.  During  his  absence  his 
wife  remained  in  sole  charge,  and,  judging  by  the 
entries  in  her  diary,  she  had  her  hands  full  every 
moment  of  the  time.  Everybody — white,  brown,  or 
black — went  to  her  with  apparently  full  confidence 
that  she  was  able  to  cure  any  wound  or  disease. 
"One  day,"  she  says,  **I  heard  a  loud  weeping  as  of 
some  one  in  great  pain;  a  man  had  just  had  two 
fingers  dreadfully  crushed.  I  really  didn't  know  what 
to  do  except  to  go  to  a  doctor,  but  as  the  wound  was 
bleeding  a  good  deal  I  mixed  up  some  crystals  of  iron 
in  water  and  washed  his  hand  in  that.  To  my  sur- 
prise his  cries  instantly  ceased,  and  he  declares  he 


THE  HAPPY  YEARS  IN  SAMOA       189 

has  had  no  pain  since.  It  was  only  for  the  effect  on 
his  mind  that  I  gave  the  iron,  which  so  far  as  I  know 
is  a  stjT)tic  only;  I  always  think  it  best  to  give  some- 
thing— perhaps  on  the  principle  of  the  doctors  when 
they  give  bread  pUls.  I  have  cured  both  Paul  and 
the  carpenter  of  violent  lumbago,  but  there  I  had  a 
little  knowledge  to  go  upon.  To-day  a  man  came 
to  us  with  the  sole  of  his  foot  very  much  uiflamed 
from  having  run  a  nail  into  it  the  day  before  yester- 
day. I  bound  a  bit  of  fat  bacon  on  the  foot — an  old 
Negro  remedy  which  was  the  only  one  I  could  think 
of.  It  is  even  more  difficult  when  they  bring  me 
their  domestic  troubles  to  settle,  in  which  they  seem 
to  think  I  am  as  great  an  expert  as  in  curing  their 
physical  Uls," 

In  the  effort  to  keep  things  from  being  lost  or  im- 
properly used  she  fell  into  the  habit  of  storing  them 
in  her  bedroom,  so  that  in  time  it  became  a  veritable 
junk-shop.  "Among  my  dresses,"  she  writes,  "hang 
bridle  straps  and  horse  robes.  On  the  camphor-wood 
trunk  which  serves  as  my  dressing-table,  beside  my 
comb  and  toothbrush,  a  collection  of  tools — chisels, 
pincers,  and  the  like — is  spread  out.  Leather  straps 
and  parts  of  harness  hang  from  the  walls,  as  well  as 
a  long  carved  spear,  a  pistol,  strings  of  teeth — of  fish, 
beasts,  and  human  beings — necklaces  of  shells,  and 
several  hats.  Fine  mats  and  iapas  are  piled  up  in 
heaps.  My  little  cot  bed  seems  to  have  got  into  its 
place  by  mistake.  Besides  the  above  mentioned 
articles  there  are  an  easel  and  two  cameras  stowed 
in  one  corner.     A  strange  lady*s  chamber  indeed." 

On  March  28  there  was  a  stiff  blow,  during  which 


190     LIFE  OF  MRS.  R.  L.  STEVENSON 

the  little  cottage  rocked  and  groaned  in  the  most 
alarming  way,  and  with  one  gust  of  wind  it  swung  over 
so  far  that  Hs  terrified  occupants  thought  it  was  gone. 
All,  including  Mrs.  Stevenson,  then  took  refuge  in 
the  stable,  which  was  rather  more  solidly  constructed. 
The  hurricane,  the  most  violent  they  had  yet  experi- 
enced, lasted  several  days,  during  which  they  re- 
mained in  the  stable,  sleeping  in  the  stalls  in  wet 
beds,  having  to  sweep  out  the  water  without  ceasing 
and  suffering  severely  from  clouds  of  mosquitoes. 
When  at  last  the  storm  abated  and  they  could  return 
to  the  house,  they  found  everything  wet  and  mil- 
dewed and  the  cottage  leaning  with  a  decided  cant 
to  one  side.  Worst  of  all,  one  of  the  horses  had 
become  entangled  in  the  barbed-wire  fence  that  had 
been  blown  down  by  the  wind,  and  was  dreadfully 
injured.  Thus  they  discovered  that  life  in  the 
tropics  has  its  drawbacks  as  well  as  its  delights. 

These  were  the  primitive  conditions  that  greeted 
the  elder  Mrs.  Stevenson  on  her  arrival,  and  the  poor 
lady's  surprise  and  consternation  were  increased  by 
the  appearance  of  the  good-hearted  Paul  while  wait- 
ing on  table — a  plump  little  German  with  a  bald  head, 
clothed  in  a  flannel  shirt  open  at  the  neck,  a  pair  of 
ragged  trousers,  particularly  dilapidated  in  the  seat 
and  held  up  by  a  leather  strap  round  the  waist,  a 
sheath-knife  stuck  in  the  belt,  barefoot,  and  most 
likely  offering  the  information  that  "the  meat  is 
tough,  by  God."  Having  no  pioneer  ancestry  to 
sustain  her  she  was  unable  to  endure  the  discomforts 
of  the  place  and  only  remained  over  the  stay  of  the 
Luheckt  after  which  she  fled  to  Sydney,  there  to  await 


THE  HAPPY  YEARS  IN  SAMOA       191 

the  time  when  civilization  should  have  been  estab- 
lished on  the  plantation. 

By  the  end  of  April  the  new  house  was  ready  for 
them  to  move  in,  and  by  July  the  whole  family,  in- 
cluding the  Strongs,*  were  established  on  the  place. 

The  conditions  of  their  lives  were  now  vastly  more 
comfortable.  Mrs.  Stevenson  no  longer  had  to  share 
the  evening  lamp  with  death's-head  moths  and  piping 
tree-frogs,  for  gauze  doors  and  windows  had  been 
put  in  to  keep  out  the  flying  things.  Nor  did  she 
have  to  take  refuge  in  the  stable  when  the  hurricane 
season  came  around,  for  the  new  house  was  staunchly 
built  and  stout  storm-shutters  stood  against  the  fury 
of  the  wind  and  rain. 

Of  Vailima  in  its  finished  aspect  I  need  not  speak 
in  detail,  since  it  has  been  fully  and  elaborately 
described  by  Graham  Balfour  in  his  Life  of  Robert 
Louis  Stevenson.  With  its  band  of  "house  boys"  and 
"out  boys" — ^a  fine-looking  lot  of  fellows  of  whom 
their  master  was  very  proud — the  household  grew  to 
be  almost  like  that  of  a  feudal  chief,  or  Scotch  laird 
of  the  old  days,  and  IMrs.  Stevenson  took  her  place 
as  its  mistress  as  though  "to  the  manner  born." 
The  place  became  the  centre  of  social  life  in  the 
island  and  was  the  scene  of  frequent  balls  and  parties, 
dinners  with  twenty-five  or  thirty  guests,  Christmas 
parties  Tvith  the  guests  staying  for  three  days,  and 
tennis  nearly  every  day  with  officers  from  the  men- 
of-war  in  the  harbour  and  ladies  from  the  mission. 
Over  these  entertainments  Mrs.  Stevenson  presided — 
a  gracious  and  beautiful  hostess.     Once  when  her 

*  Mrs.  Stevenson's  daughter,  Isobel  Strong,  with  her  husband  and  son. 


192     LIFE  OF  MRS.  R.   L.  STEVENSON 

grandson,  Austin  Strong,  came  home  for  a  holiday 
from  school,  she  gave  a  ball  in  his  honour.  There  were 
torches  all  along  the  road  to  light  the  way  up,  boys 
in  uniform  to  receive  and  take  care  of  the  guests  and 
their  horses,  and  a  band  to  play  for  dancing.  For 
weeks  beforehand  the  dressmakers  of  Apia  had  to 
work  overtime.  But  it  is  not  to  be  supposed  that 
this  comfortable  state  was  brought  about  without 
great  efforts  on  the  part  of  the  whole  family.  Mrs. 
Strong  took  over  the  housekeeping,  management  of 
supplies  and  training  of  servants,  leaving  her  mother 
free  to  devote  her  energies  to  the  outdoor  work  she 
loved  best.  Writing  to  IVIiss  Jane  Balfour,  Mrs.  Ste- 
venson says:  "Never  were  people  so  full  of  affairs. 
We  have  to  start  a  plantation  in  the  solid  bush,  man- 
age all  our  complicated  busiaess,  receive  furniture 
and  guests — and  all  the  while  trying  madly  to  get 
the  house  in  order  and  feed  our  family.  We  must 
have  horses  to  ride  or  we  can  go  nowhere.  The  land 
must  be  cleared  and  grass  to  feed  horses  and  cows 
must  be  planted.  Men  have  to  be  taught,  also,  how 
to  take  care  of  the  animals  and  must  be  watched 
every  moment.  I  am  glad  to  say  that  the  gossip 
among  the  natives  is  that  I  have  eyes  all  around  my 
head  and  am  in  fifty  places  at  once,  and  that  I  am 
a  person  to  be  feared  and  obeyed." 

The  fertile  soil  and  kindly  climate  of  the  island 
encouraged  her  to  experiment,  not  only  with  the 
plants  native  to  the  place,  but  also  with  exotics 
brought  from  other  lands.  In  importing  these  for- 
eign plants  she  exercised  the  greatest  care  not  to 
introduce  any  pest,  for  she  knew  that  when  the  Ian- 


THE  HAPPY  YEARS  IN  SAMOA       193 

tana  was  taken  to  Hawaii  and  the  sweetbrier  to  New 
Zealand  these  foreigners  showed  such  a  destructive 
fondness  for  their  adopted  homes  that  they  came 
near  choking  out  everything  else.  Before  mtroducing 
any  plant  she  consulted  the  heads  of  the  botanical 
gardens  at  Kew  and  Colombo  and  the  grass  expert  at 
Washington,  D.  C.  She  even  had  the  soil  that  came 
around  her  plants  burned,  for  fear  it  might  bring  in 
insects  or  disease.  The  lawn  was  an  accomplishment 
in  itself,  for  after  she  had  had  the  soil  sifted  to  a 
depth  of  eighteen  inches  to  clear  it  of  roots  and 
stones,  she  levelled  it  herself  by  the  simple  means 
of  a  spirit-level  and  a  string. 

It  is  not  to  be  supposed  that  all  these  things  grew 
without  immense  difficulty.  As  an  instance,  after  she 
had  carefully  instructed  Lafaele,  her  gardener,  how 
to  plant  a  patch  of  vanilla,  she  was  disgusted  to  find 
that  he  had  planted  them  all  upside  down.  After 
givuig  him  a  thorough  scolding,  she  dismissed  him 
and  replanted  them  all  herself,  right  side  up.  What 
were  her  feelings  to  find  the  next  day  that  Lafaele, 
chagrined  by  his  stupidity,  had  risen  in  the  night  and 
planted  them  all  upside  down  again !  This  Lafaele 
was  a  huge  mutton-headed  Hercules,  an  out-islander, 
who  spoke  no  English,  and  as  INIrs.  Stevenson  never 
learned  Samoan,  the  two  had  perforce  to  invent  a 
sort  of  pidgin  dialect  of  their  own,  in  which  they 
jabbered  away  successfully  but  which  no  one  else 
could  understand.  She  later  found  an  intelligent 
Samoan  named  Leuelu  who  imderstood  her  pidgin 
Samoan  perfectly  and  learned  to  carry  out  all  her 
orders.     He  was  small  and  not  strong,  but  with  the 


194     LIFE  OF  MRS.   R.   L.   STEVENSON 

help  of  the  dull  but  faithful  Lafaele  he  soon  had  a 
wonderful  garden. 

One  week  her  special  task  was  to  superintend  the 
boys  in  putting  a  culvert  into  the  new  road  to  carry 
off  the  rain  in  tlie  wet  season.  She  also  devised  and 
carried  out  a  scheme  of  water-works  for  the  place 
which  was  a  great  boon  and  comfort  to  all  the  family, 
and  enabled  them  to  sprinkle  their  lawn  in  civilized 
fashion.  A  large  cemented  reservoir  was  built  at  a 
spring  on  the  mountain  and  the  water  carried  down 
from  it  in  pipes  and  distributed  through  the  house 
and  grounds. 

One  of  her  few  failures  was  trying  to  make  beer  out 
of  bananas.  The  stuff,  after  being  bottled,  blew  up 
with  a  great  noise  and  a  dissemination  of  the  aston- 
ishingly offensive  odour  of  the  fermented  fruit  that 
seemed  to  spread  for  acres  about.  On  the  other  hand, 
her  attempt  at  making  perfume  from  the  moso'oi 
flower  (said  to  be  the  real  ylang-ylang)  was  a  distinct 
success.  She  had  to  get  permission  from  the  govern- 
ment to  import  the  small  still  she  set  up  in  a  corner 
of  the  garden.  The  flowers  were  boiled  and  distilled, 
and  as  the  oil  rose  to  the  top  of  the  water  it  was 
removed  with  a  medicine-dropper.  It  was  a  charm- 
ing sight  to  see  her  working  in  her  little  distillery, 
while  processions  of  pretty  Samoan  girls  came  with 
their  huge  baskets  of  flowers  and  scattered  them  in 
piles  around  her.  Long  afterwards  when  she  was  in 
New  York  she  took  a  sample  of  the  perfume  to  Col- 
gates,  who  pronounced  it  the  best  they  had  ever  seen. 

In  the  midst  of  all  these  labours  there  were  a  thou- 
sand other  troubles  to  be  met  and  conquered — ser- 


THE  HAPPY  \^ARS  IN  SAMOA       195 

rants'  quarrels  in  the  kitchen,  for  Samoans  are  not 
a  whit  different  in  such  respects  from  domestics  all 
the  world  over,  jealousy  between  the  house  boys  and 
the  out  boys,  constant  alarms  about  devils  and  be- 
witchments, and,  above  all,  sickness  of  all  sorts  to 
be  sympathized  with  and  cured.  For  help  in  all 
these  derangements  every  one  went  to  the  mistress, 
for  all  had  a  simple  faith  in  her  ability  to  relieve 
them  of  all  their  sorrows.  At  one  time  she  and  her 
daughter  nursed  twenty-two  men  through  the  measles 
— a  very  serious  disease  among  the  islanders.  At  an- 
other time  the  large  hall  at  Vailima  was  entirely  filled 
with  the  beds  of  influenza  patients,  Mr.  Stevenson 
being  isolated  up-stairs.  In  the  performance  of  the 
plantation  work  accidents  sometimes  happened  to  the 
men,  and  she  was  often  called  upon  to  bind  up  dread- 
ful wounds  that  would  have  made  many  women  faint. 
From  her  earliest  youth  she  had  always  been  the  kind 
of  person  to  whom  every  one  instinctively  turns  in  an 
emergency.  When  Mr.  Stevenson  was  ill  she  under- 
stood what  he  wanted  by  the  merest  gesture,  and  was 
always  calm,  reassuring,  and  self-reliant,  never  break- 
ing down  until  after  the  crisis  was  past.  She  was  a 
most  delightful  nurse  otherwise,  too,  for  when  her 
children  were  sick  in  bed  she  entertained  them  with 
cheerful  stories  to  divert  their  minds,  and  when  they 
were  convalescent  made  tempting  dishes  for  them  to 
eat.  One  of  my  owti  dear  memories  is  of  a  time 
when,  as  a  little  child,  I  lay  dangerously  and  pain- 
fully ill,  unable  to  move  even  a  hand,  and  she  light- 
ened my  sufferings  immeasurably  by  buying  a  Noah's 
ark  and  arranging  the  animals  on  a  little  table  by  my 


196     LIFE  OF  MRS.  R.  L.  STEVENSON 

bedside  where  I  could  look  at  them.  When  her  hus- 
band was  having  one  of  his  speechless  illnesses  at 
Vailima  she  allowed  only  one  at  a  time  to  go  in  to 
him,  under  orders  to  be  entertaining  and  to  recount 
amusing  little  adventures  of  the  household.  She  her- 
self was  an  adept  at  this,  though  when  she  came  out 
she  left  her  smile  at  the  bedroom  door.  For  his 
amusement  she  would  sit  by  his  bedside  and  play  her 
famous  game  of  solitaire,  learned  so  long  ago  from 
Prince  Kropotkin,  the  Russian  revolutionist.  He 
would  make  signs  when  she  went  wrong  and  point  at 
cards  for  her  to  take  up.  Sometimes  she  read  trashy 
novels  to  him,  for  they  both  liked  such  reading  when 
it  was  bad  enough  to  be  funny. 

With  the  childlike  Samoans  she  found  sympathy  to 
be  as  necessary  as  medical  treatment  for  their  ails. 
An  interesting  example  of  this  was  the  case  of  Eliga, 
who  was  afflicted  with  an  unsightly  tumour  on  his 
back.  This,  in  a  land  where  any  sort  of  deformity 
is  looked  upon  with  horror,  caused  the  unfortunate 
man  great  unhappiness,  besides  depriving  him  of  his 
titles  and  estates.  His  kind  master  and  mistress 
had  him  examined  by  the  surgeon  of  an  English  man- 
of-war  that  was  in  the  harbour,  and  the  opinion  was 
given  that  an  operation  was  quite  feasible.  Poor 
Eliga,  however,  was  stricken  with  terror  at  the 
thought  and  carefully  explained  that  there  were 
strings  in  the  wen  that  were  tied  about  his  heart,  and 
if  they  were  severed  he  would  die.  Besides,  he  said, 
as  his  skin  was  different  from  the  white  man's,  his 
insides  were  probably  different  also.  In  the  end, 
more  to  please  them  than  through  any  faith  in  it,  he 


THE  HAPPY  YEARS  IN  SAMOA       197 

consented  to  the  operation,  although  so  certain  was 
he  of  a  fatal  ending  that  he  liad  his  house  swept  and 
garnished,  ready  for  the  funeral.  To  comfort  and 
cheer  him  thi'ough  the  ordeal,  both  INIr.  and  Mrs. 
Stevenson  went  to  his  house  and  remained  with  him 
until  all  was  done.  The  result  was  most  happy,  and 
the  grateful  man,  now  proudly  holding  up  his  head 
among  his  fellows,  composed  in  honour  of  the  event 
"TheSongof  the  Wen": 

"O  Tusitala,  when  you  first  came  here  I  was  ugly 
and  poor  and  deformed.  I  was  jeered  at  and  scorned 
by  the  unthinking.  I  ate  grass;  a  bunch  of  leaves 
was  my  sole  garment,  and  I  had  nothing  to  hide  my 
ugliness.  But  now,  O  Tusitala,  now  I  am  beautiful; 
my  body  is  sound  and  handsome;  I  bear  a  great 
name;  I  am  rich  and  powerful  and  unashamed,  and  I 
owe  it  all  to  you,  Tusitala.  I  have  come  to  tell  your 
highness  that  I  will  not  forget.  Tusitala,  I  will  work 
for  you  all  my  life,  and  my  family  shall  work  for  your 
family,  and  there  shall  be  no  question  of  wage  be- 
tween us,  only  loving-kindness.  My  life  is  yours, 
and  I  will  be  your  servant  till  I  die."* 

It  was  in  Samoa  that  Mrs.  Stevenson  acquired  the 
name  of  Tamaitai,t  by  which  she  was  known  thence- 
forth to  her  family  and  intimate  friends  until  the 
day  of  her  death.  English  words  do  not  come  easily 
from  the  tongues  of  the  natives,  and  so  they  obviate 
the  difficulty  by  bestowing  names  of  their  own  upon 
strangers  who  come  to  dwell  among  them.     It  was 

*  The  complete  story  of  EUga,  most  agi-eeably  told,  may  be  found  in 
Vailima  Memories,  by  Lloyd  Osbourne  and  Isobel  Strong, 
t  Pronounced  Tahmyty,  with  the  accent  on  the  "my." 


198     Llf^E  OF  MRS.   R.   L.  STEVENSON 

as  Tusitala,  the  writer  of  tales,  that  Louis  was  best 
known,  his  wife  was  called  Aolele,*  flying  cloud,  and 
her  daughter,  because  of  her  kindness  in  giving  rib- 
bons and  other  little  trinkets  to  the  girls,  was  named 
Teuila,  the  decorator.  Tamaitai  is  a  general  title, 
meaning  "Madam,"  and  is  used  in  reference  to  the 
lady  of  the  house.  Mr.  Stevenson  himself  started 
the  custom  by  calling  his  wife  Tamaitai,  and  it  was 
finally  adopted  by  everybody  and  grew  to  be  her 
name — the  complete  title  being  Tamaitai  Aolele 
(Madam  Aolele) .  These  Samoan  names  were  adopted 
partly  as  a  convenience,  to  escape  the  embarrassment 
that  sometimes  arose  from  the  habit  among  the  natives 
of  calling  the  different  members  of  the  family  by  their 
first  names.  It  was  felt  to  be  rather  undignified,  for 
instance,  that  the  mistress  of  the  house  should  be 
called  "Fanny"  by  her  servants. 

Mrs.  Stevenson,  as  I  have  said  before,  was  a  famous 
cook,  and  had  learned  how  to  make  at  least  some  of 
the  characteristic  dishes  of  each  of  the  many  coun- 
tries where  she  had  sojourned  awhile  in  her  long 
wanderings.  From  her  mother  she  had  inherited 
many  an  old  Dutch  receipt — peppery  pot,  noodle 
soup,  etc.;  in  France  she  acquired  the  secret  of  pre- 
paring a  bouillabaise,^  sole  a  la  marguery,  and  many 
others;  from  Abdul,  an  East  Indian  cook  she  brought 
from  Fiji,  she  learned  how  to  make  a  wonderful  mut- 
ton curry  which  contained  more  ingredients  than 
perhaps  any  other  dish  on  earth;  in  the  South  Seas 

*  Translated  in  an  old  missionary  note-book  as  "  beautiful  as  a  flying 
cloud." 

t  A  Provengal  fish-chowder. 


THE  HAPPY  YEARS  IN  SAMOA       199 

she  picked  up  the  art  of  making  raw-fish  salad;  and 
now  at  Vailima  she  lost  no  time  in  adding  Samoan 
receipts  to  her  list.  She  soon  knew  how  to  prepare 
to  perfection  a  pig  roasted  underground  and  eaten 
with  Miti  sauce,*  besides  dozens  of  other  dishes,  in- 
cluding ava  for  drinking. 

It  was  not  the  least  of  her  duties  to  play  the  hostess 
to  a  remarkable  assortment  of  guests — the  Chief  Jus- 
tice, oflScers  from  the  men-of-war  that  frequently 
came  into  the  harbour,  Protestant,  Catholic,  and  Mor- 
mon missionaries,  all  kinds  of  visitors  to  the  islands, 
including  an  English  duchess,  and  native  kings  and 
chiefs.  Once  a  high  chief,  one  of  the  highest,  bearing 
the  somewhat  lengthy  name  of  Tuimalealiifono,  came 
on  a  visit  to  Vailima.  He  was  quite  unacquainted 
with  white  ways  of  living,  and,  when  shown  to  his 
bedroom,  looked  askance  at  the  neat,  comfortable 
bed  that  had  been  prepared  for  him.  In  the  morning 
it  was  found  that  he  had  scorned  the  bed,  and,  retir- 
ing to  the  piazza,  had  rolled  himself  up  in  his  mat 
and  lain  down  to  pleasant  dreams.  At  table,  al- 
though he  had  never  before  seen  knives  and  forks,  he 
picked  up  their  use  instantly  by  quietly  observing 
the  manners  of  the  others. 

A  curious  episode,  which  might  have  turned  out 
to  be  dangerous,  happened  during  the  war  troubles, 
when  King  Malietoa  went  up  to  Vailima  secretly  to 
have  a  talk  with  Tusitala.  After  the  talk  Louis 
offered  him  a  present,  asking  what  he  preferred. 
Malietoa  said  he  would  like  a  revolver,  and  Louis 

*  Miti  sauce  is  made  of  grated  kukxii  auts  mixed  with  lime-juice  and 
sea-water. 


200     LIFE  OF  MRS.  R.   L.   STEVENSON 

took  one  from  the  safe  and  handed  it  to  his  wife, 
who  happened  to  be  sitting  next  the  king.  She 
emptied  the  chambers,  as  she  thought,  and  then,  not 
noticing  that  the  thing  was  pointing  straight  at  the 
king's  heart,  she  clicked  it  five  times.  By  a  lucky 
chance,  before  clicking  it  the  sixth  time  she  looked 
in,  and  behold,  there  was  the  last  cartridge !  If  she 
had  given  the  last  click  she  certainly  would  have 
killed  the  king,  and  one  can  imagine  the  complica- 
tions that  would  have  resulted  in  those  uneasy  times. 
Of  course  the  episode,  with  all  the  dramatic  possibili- 
ties attached  to  it,  appealed  to  the  romantic  imagina- 
tions of  the  two  Stevensons,  and,  after  the  king's  de- 
parture, they  spent  the  evening  in  making  up  a 
harrowing  tale  about  what  would  have  happened  if 
she  had  killed  him. 

Among  the  notable  visitors  to  Vailima  was  the 
Italian  artist  Fieri  Nerli,  who  came  to  paint  Mr. 
Stevenson's  portrait — the  one  that  now  hangs  in 
Swanson  Cottage  in  Scotland.  This  portrait  pleased 
his  wife  as  little  as  did  the  Sargent  picture,  and,  in  a 
letter  to  Lord  Guthrie  of  Edinburgh,  she  makes  w^hat 
Lord  Guthrie  calls  "an  acute  criticism  of  this  over- 
dramatized  likeness."  She  says :  "  It  would  have  been 
all  right  if  Nerli  had  only  been  content  to  paint  just 
Louis,  and  had  not  insisted  on  representing  instead 
the  author  of  Dr.  Jekyll  and  Mr.  Hyde.^' 

It  was  not  all  work  at  Vailima  by  any  means. 
"Socially,"  she  writes,  "Samoa  was  not  dull.  There 
were  many  entertainments  given  by  diplomats  and 
officials  in  Apia.  Besides  native  feasts  there  were 
afternoon   teas,   evening   receptions,    dinner   parties.- 


THE  HAPPY  YEARS  IN  SAMOA       201 

private  and  public  balls,  paper  chases  on  horseback, 
polo,  tennis  parties,  and  picnics.  Sometimes  a  party 
of  flower-wreathed  natives  might  come  dancing  over 
the  lawn  at  Vailima,  or  a  band  of  sailors  from  a  man- 
of-war  would  be  seen  gathered  in  an  embarrassed 
knot  at  the  front  gate.'*  She  herself  cared  little  for 
these  entertainments,  and  usually  busied  herself  in 
helping  others  with  the  preparations  for  them.  Her 
mother-in-law  writes:  "A  fancy  dress  ball  has  been 
held  in  honor  of  the  birthday  of  the  Prince  of  Wales. 
Fanny  designed  a  costume  for  Mrs.  Gurr  (a  pretty 
Samoan  girl)  as  Zenobia,  Empress  of  the  East.  She 
wore  a  Greek  dress,  made  in  part  of  cotton  stuff  with 
a  gold  pattern  stamped  on  it;  over  this  a  crimson 
chuddah  was  correctly  draped,  with  a  gold  belt,  many 
beads,  and  an  elaborate  gold  crown." 

From  the  busy  round  of  her  many-sided  activities 
she  took  time  now  and  then  to  do  a  little  writing, 
though  in  truth  she  had  little  liking  for  it  nor  any 
high  regard  for  her  own  literary  style,  in  which  she 
complained  of  a  certain  "dry  nippedness"  that  she 
detested  but  could  not  get  rid  of.  It  was  only  when 
she  wanted  some  extra  money  for  her  water-works 
at  Vailima  that  she  "took  her  pen  in  hand'*  and 
wrote  a  story  for  Scribners. 

All  this  sounds  hurried  and  breathless,  but  in 
reality  these  activities  were  spread  out  over  far  more 
time  than  appears  in  the  telling  of  them,  and  there 
were  peaceful  intervals  of  rest  and  happiness  in  seeing 
Louis  well  and  able  for  the  first  time  to  bear  his  share 
in  hospitality. 

Always,  high  above  every  other  purpose,  was  her 


202     LIFE  OF  MRS.  R.   L.   STEVENSON 

unfailing  devotion  to  lier  husband  and  his  work,  and 
no  other  task  ever  interfered  with  her  careful  watch 
over  his  health  and  her  keen  interest  in  his  writing. 
He  appreciated  her  aid  from  the  bottom  of  his  heart, 
and  in  the  dedication  to  his  last  unfinished  novel. 
Weir  of  Hermiston,  he  endeavours  to  express  in  some 
degree  his  profound  sense  of  obligation: 

"I  saw  the  rain  falling  and  the  rainbow  drawn 
On  Lammermuir.     Hearkening,  I  heard  again 
In  my  precipitous  city  beaten  bells 
Winnow  the  keen  sea  wind.     And  here  afar. 
Intent  on  my  own  race  and  place  I  wrote. 
Take  thou  the  writing;  thine  it  is.      For  who 
Burnished  the  sword,  blew  on  the  drowsy  coal. 
Held  still  the  target  higher;  chary  of  praise 
And  prodigal  of  counsel — who  but  thou? 
So  now  in  the  end;  if  this  the  least  be  good. 
If  any  deed  be  done,  if  any  fire 
Bum  in  the  imperfect  page,  the  praise  be  thine.'* 

This  was  to  the  critic;  to  the  wife  he  wrote: 

"Trusty,  dusky,  vivid,  true. 
With  eyes  of  gold  and  bramble-dew. 
Steel  true  and  blade  straight 
The  great  Artificer  made  my  mate. 

Honor,  anger,  valor,  fire, 

A  love  that  life  could  never  tire. 

Death  quench,  or  evil  stir. 

The  mighty  Master  gave  to  her. 

Teacher,  tender  comrade,  wife, 
A  fellow-farer  true  through  life. 
Heart  whole  and  soul  free. 
The  August  Father  gave  to  me." 


THE  HAPPY  YEARS  IN  SAMOA       203 

As  the  years  passed,  their  comradeship  grew  closer, 
and,  indeed,  their  relationship  can  perhaps  be  ex- 
pressed in  no  better  way  than  to  call  them  "com- 
rades," with  all  that  the  word  implies.  In  writing  to 
her  he  usually  called  her  "My  dear  fellow,"  and  in 
speaking  often  addressed  her  in  the  same  way.  His 
attachment  and  admiration  for  her  steadily  increased 
in  proportion  to  his  longer  acquaintance  with  her. 
Once  at  Vailima  they  were  all  playing  a  game  called 
"Truth,"  in  which  each  person  writes  a  list  of  the 
qualities — courage,  humour,  beauty,  etc. — supposed 
to  be  possessed  by  the  others,  with  the  corresponding 
ratio  in  numbers,  ten  being  the  maximum.  Louis 
put  his  wife  down  as  ten  for  beauty.  She  argued 
with  him  that  he  must  be  perfectly  honest  and  not 
complimentary;  he  looked  at  her  in  amazement  and 
said:  "I  am  honest;  I  think  you  are  the  most  beautiful 
woman  in  the  world." 

Once  when  her  birthday,  the  10th  of  March,  came 
around,  she  found  on  waking  these  verses  pinned  to 
the  netting  of  her  bed: 


"To  THE  Stormy  Petrel 

"Ever  perilous 
And  precious,  like  an  ember  from  the  fire 
Or  gem  from  a  volcano,  we  to-day 
^Vhen  drums  of  war  reverberate  in  the  land 
And  every  face  is  for  the  battle  blacked — 
No  less  the  sky,  that  over  sodden  woods 
Menaces  now  in  the  disconsolate  calm 
The  hurly-burly  of  the  hurricane — 
Do  now  most  fitly  celebrate  your  day. 


204     LIFE  OF  MRS.  R.   L.  STEVENSON 

Yet  amid  turmoil,  keep  for  me,  my  dear. 
The  kind  domestic  fagot.     Let  the  hearth 
Shine  ever  as  (I  praise  my  honest  gods) 
In  peace  and  tempest  it  has  ever  shone." 

She  said  these  verses  were  the  best  of  all  her  birth- 
day presents.  He  called  her  the  "stormy  petrel"  in 
reference  to  her  birth  in  the  wild  montli  of  March, 
and  because  she  was  such  a  fiery  little  person.  When 
she  took  sides  in  an  argument  he  would  say,  in  mild 
irony:  "The  shouts  of  the  women  in  the  opposite 
camp  were  heard  demanding  the  heads  of  the  pris- 
oners." 

All  through  the  daily  entries  in  her  diary,  mingled 
with  the  incidents  of  the  household,  runs  the  talk  pf 
impending  war: 

"War  news  continues  exciting,  and  there  are  threats 
of  a  massacre  of  all  the  whites.  Although  nothing  of 
the  kind  is  really  anticipated,  I  tliink  it  would  be 
better  to  look  up  our  cartridges.  Lafaele  has  blacked 
his  face  in  the  fashion  of  a  warrior,  saying  he  must  be 
prepared  to  protect  the  place.  He  has  a  very  sore 
toe,  which  he  thinks  is  bewitched.  He  sent  for  the 
Samoan  doctor,  a  grave  middle-aged  man,  who  an- 
nounced tliat  a  devil,  instigated  by  some  enemy,  has 
entered  the  toe  and  is  now  on  the  point  of  travelling 
up  the  leg,  and  unless  it  is  checked  in  time  will  soon 
have  possession  of  Lafaele's  entire  body. 

"March  22.  This  entry  is  written  in  Suva,  Fiji. 
For  a  long  time  I  had  not  been  well,  and  so  I  was 
sent  off  in  the  steamer  to  this  place,  though  I  went 
with  a  heavy  heart,  for  I  thought  Louis  did  not  look 
well.     I  have  been  to  the  botanical  gardens,  which 


THE  HAPPY  YEARS  IN  SAMOA       205 

are  in  charge  of  a  pleasant  young  man  from  Kew,  and 
have  secured  four  boxes  of  plants  for  Vailima.  The 
young  man  told  me,  as  a  trade  secret,  that  if  cauli- 
flowers get  an  occasional  watering  of  sea  water  they 
will  head  up  m  any  climate.  I  have  also  secured  an 
East  Indian  cook  named  Abdul. 

"September  23.  At  home  again.  I  find  that  Lloyd 
and  the  Strongs  have  been  teaching  a  native  boy 
named  Talolo  to  cook,  with  the  best  results,  so  my 
fine  Indian  cook  is  a  fifth  wheel.  However,  Mr. 
Haggard  has  agreed  to  take  him — though  he  seems 
very  reluctant  to  leave  Vailima. 

"October  28.  Paul  left  us  some  time  ago  to  be 
overseer  on  a  German  plantation.  Before  he  left,  in 
his  blundering  desire  to  do  all  he  could  for  me,  he 
transplanted  a  lot  of  my  plants,  all  wrong,  and  in  fact 
did  all  the  damage  he  well  could  in  so  short  a  time. 
I  felt  sorry  to  see  the  last  of  him,  for  with  all  his  mis- 
takes his  heart  was  in  the  right  place.  Much  more 
distressing  is  it  that  our  dear  Simile  is  gone.  He 
wept  very  much  in  leaving,  saying  that  *liis  poor 
old  family'  needed  him.  I  was  told  afterwards  that 
he  had  in  realitj^  eloped  with  a  young  lady,  which 
may  be  the  truth  of  the  matter.  Talolo,  our  new 
cook,  amuses  me  very  much.  He  was  greatly  shocked 
at  hearing  of  the  scalping  of  victims  by  American  In- 
dians, but  thought  the  taking  of  heads  in  the  Samoan 
fashion  perfectly  right,  as  the  victim  was  then  dead 
and  felt  nothing. 

"November  2.  Talolo's  mother,  a  very  respectable 
woman  indeed,  came  to  see  us,  bringing  with  her  a 
relative  who  is  almost  blind   from   cataract.     They 


206     LIFE  OF  MRS.   R.   L.   STEVENSON 

were  sliowii  over  the  house  and  could  be  heard  at 
every  moment  crying  out  in  Samoan  'How  extremely 
beautiful ! '  Even  when  shown  into  the  cellar,  where 
it  was  quite  dark,  they  were  heard  to  make  the  same 
remark.  .  .  .  Last  Saturday  Lloyd  marshalled  up 
all  the  men  before  they  left  for  their  Sunday  at  home 
and  administered  to  each  a  blue  pill.  One  fellow  was 
caught  hiding  his  in  his  cheek  and  was  made  to  swal- 
low it  amid  shouts  of  laughter.  I  feared  they  would 
never  come  back,  but  all  returned  on  Monday  morn- 
ing declaring  they  were  much  improved  in  health. 

"We  are  all  blazing  with  cacao-planting  zeal,  and 
we  already  have  over  six  hundred  plants  set  out. 
The  method  of  planting  them  is  very  laborious,  for 
the  seeds  must  first  be  set  in  baskets  made  of  plaited 
cocoanut  leaves,  and  when  the  sprouts  come  up  they 
are  put  In  the  earth,  basket  and  all;  in  this  way  the 
roots  are  not  disturbed  and  in  time  the  basket  decays 
in  the  damp  soil  and  drops  off.  The  whole  family 
has  been  infected  with  the  planting  fever,  and  even 
Mrs.  Stevenson  works  away  at  it  most  gallantly. 
To-day  is  Sunday,  but  we  must  all,  the  family  and 
the  house  boys,  plant  the  seeds  that  are  left. 

*^  November  30.  Simile  has  come  back  in  a  sad  con- 
dition from  a  wound  with  a  spear  or  club  in  the  back 
of  his  head,  and  much  distressed  over  the  state  of 
his  'poor  old  family.'  .  .  .  We  have  now  set  out 
1,200  cacao  plants.  All  yesterday  Joe*  and  I  were 
superintending  the  building  of  a  bridge  over  the 
river.  We  had  two  trees  cut  down  for  the  purpose; 
one  of  them  was  of  the  most  lovely  pinkish  wood, 

*  Her  son-in  law,  Mr.  Strong. 


THE  HAPPY  YEARS  IN  SAMOA       207 

with  salmon  pink  bark,  and  emitted  a  perfume  like  a 
mixture  of  sassafras  and  wintergreen.  .  .  .  Last 
night  we  were  somewhat  alarmed  by  earthquake 
shocks  and  rifle  shots.  Yesterday  three  of  the  chairs 
made  by  the  carpenter  out  of  our  own  wood,  mahog- 
any, and  designed  from  an  antique  model,  came  up. 
They  are  very  satisfactory — a  beautiful  shape  and 
comfortable  to  sit  in." 

So  the  weeks  rolled  swiftly  by,  filled  with  an  infini- 
tude of  duties  and  much  happiness,  until  the  bright 
tropic  sun  broke  on  Christmas  morning,  1893.  The 
day  was  always  celebrated  at  Vailima  with  much 
ceremony,  and  a  gigantic  tree,  covered  with  carefully 
chosen  presents  for  everybody,  from  the  head  of  the 
family  down  to  the  humblest  Samoan  retainer,  was 
set  up  in  the  large  hall.  Months  before  Mr.  Steven- 
son had  sent  to  the  army  and  navy  stores  in  London 
and  had  a  large  boxful  of  presents  for  the  tree  sent 
out.  The  diary  gives  us  some  account  of  this,  the 
last  Christmas  spent  on  earth  by  Robert  Louis  Ste- 
venson : 

"Our  washerwomen,"  so  it  runs,  "came  with  pres- 
ents— tapa  and  fans,  and  Simile  brought  baskets  and 
tapa.  Our  people  were  wild  with  delight  over  their 
presents.  Christmas  we  spent  with  friends  in  Apia, 
where  we  had  a  most  delightful  evening.  Each  gave 
some  performance  to  add  to  the  gaiety.  Louis  and 
Lloyd  played,  very  badly  indeed,  on  their  pipes. 
Teuila  recited  one  of  Louis's  poems,  and  Austin 
poured  out  with  much  dramatic  fire  Lochinvar. 
There  was  some  very  pretty  Samoan  dancing  by 
Mrs.  Gurr  and  Mrs.  Willis,  who  gave  a  sitting  dance 


208     LIFE  OF  MRS.   R.   L.   STEVENSON 

and  one  with  clubs.  The  next  day  we  rode  home, 
dashing  at  full  speed  through  mud  and  water,  and 
reached  there  drenched  to  the  skin  by  a  sudden 
shower.  I  was  alarmed  about  Louis,  but  it  did  him 
no  harm  whatever.  "We  were  happy  to  be  at  pleasant 
Vailima  again. 

'^January  3.  There  has  been  a  terrific  storm,  last- 
ing thi'ee  days,  but  the  hurricane  shutters  were  put 
up,  and  proved  a  great  protection,  though  the  house 
was  dark  and  airless.  Trees  went  crashing  all  around 
us.  There  was  a  curious  exhilaration  in  the  air,  and 
the  natives  shouted  with  glee  whenever  anything 
came  down.  The  road  was  filled  with  debris  from 
the  storm,  which  had  to  be  cleared  away  before  any 
one  could  pass.  In  the  evening  I  was  told  that  both 
the  Fiji  man  and  SImi  had  been  spitting  blood.  The 
Fiji  man  seems  to  have  a  touch  of  pneumonia.  Much 
to  Simi's  alarm  we  put  the  cupping  glass  on  him,  and 
the  whole  party  of  house  servants  escorted  him  to 
bed,  shouting  and  laughing  and  dancing  as  they 
went. 

''January  7.  Lloyd  sailed  to-day  for  San  Fran- 
cisco, intending  to  make  the  round  trip  only,  for  a 
change  of  air.  In  the  afternoon  Joe  and  I  jumped  on 
one  horse  and  galloped  as  fast  as  we  could  down  to 
the  landing,  only  to  find  that  all  the  boats  were  out. 
Just  then  the  American  consul's  boat  returned  to  the 
landing.  We  sprang  Into  it,  and  with  the  American 
flag  flying  over  us,  went  speeding  over  the  water,  in 
spite  of  the  fact  that  the  German  man-of-war  was 
having  target  practice  (a  most  dangerous  proceeding) 
right  across  the  harbor.     As  we  drew  near  the  ship 


THE  HAPPY  YEARS  IN  SAMOA       209 

we  suddenly  realized  that  they  were  holding  it  in  the 
supposition  that  we  were  bringing  a  consular  mes- 
sage. We  saw  Lloyd  running  on  deck  to  see  us,  but, 
alarmed  at  the  situation,  we  took  a  hasty  departure. 
In  the  evening  we  heard  very  sweet  and  mournful 
singing  in  the  servants'  quarters,  and  on  asking  what 
it  was  were  told  by  Talolo  that  it  was  a  farewell  to 
Loia  (Lloyd).  It  was  explained  that  the  song  was 
told  to  go  to  France,  to  Tonga,  and  other  places  to 
look  for  Lloyd,  and,  in  case  of  not  finding  him  there, 
to  search  all  over  the  world  for  him  and  carry  pleasant 
dreams  to  him. 

"January  11.  To-day  the  Fiji  man  appeared  in 
war  paint — his  nose  blackened  and  black  stripes  under 
his  eyes.  Lafaele  says  the  war  is  soon  going  to  begin, 
adding  'Please,  Tamaitai,  you  look  out;  when  Samoa 
man  fight  he  all  same  devil.'  While  we  were  talking 
low,  dull  thunder  was  rolling  around  the  horizon, 
sounding,  as  we  thought,  very  like  the  noise  of  battle. 
Strange  to  say  there  was  not  a  cloud  in  the  sky  nor  a 
flash  of  lightning  to  be  seen. 

"All  the  Samoan  women  married  to  white  men 
wish  to  express  their  gratitude  to  me  for  making  it 
possible  for  them  to  return  to  their  native  dress  or, 
rather,  the  dress  introduced  among  them  by  the 
missionaries.  Before  we  came,  all  such  women  were 
expected  to  dress  in  European  fashion,  for  otherwise 
they  were  not  considered  respectable,  and  they  were 
delighted  and  surprised  when  I  and  all  the  other 
women  at  Vailima  appeared  in  the  missionary  dress. 
This  dress,  called  the  holaku,  is  nothing  more  than 
the  old-fashioned  sacque  (known  in  America  as  the 


210     LIFE  OF  MRS.  R.   L.  STEVENSON 

'Mother  Hubbard'),  which  fortunately  happened  to 
be  the  mode  in  England  when  the  missionaries  first 
came  to  the  South  Seas.  It  was  loose,  cool,  modest, 
and  graceful,  and  so  well  suited  to  the  natives  and 
the  hot  climate  of  the  islands  that  it  became  the 
regulation  garment  of  the  South  Pacific.  The  climax 
seemed  to  be  my  going  to  a  party  in  a  very  handsome 
black  silk  holaku  with  embroidered  yoke  and  sleeves. 
The  husbands  have  removed  the  taboo  and  several 
of  the  native  ladies  are  to  have  fine  silk  gowns  made 
in  their  own  pretty,  graceful  fashion.  Corsets  must 
be  agony  to  the  poor  creatures,  and  most  of  them 
are  only  the  more  clumsy  and  awkward  for  these 
European  barbarities.  I  am  very  glad  I  have  inad- 
vertently done  so  much  good." 

The  political  pot  was  now  boiling  fiercely,  but  as 
the  trouble  in  Samoa  has  been  discussed  in  detail  in 
other  books,  it  is  not  my  purpose  to  touch  upon  it 
here  except  in  so  far  as  any  phase  of  it  directly  con- 
cerned Mrs.  Stevenson  herself.  It  is  enough  to  say 
that  the  family  espoused  the  cause  of  Mataafa,  and 
in  the  diary  Mrs.  Stevenson  describes  a  visit  made 
by  them  to  that  monarch  for  the  purpose  of  attempt- 
ing to  reconcile  the  two  parties. 

"On  the  second  of  May,'*  she  writes,  "Louis, 
Teuila*  and  I,  taking  Talolo  with  us,  went  in  a  boat 
to  Malie  to  visit  King  Mataafa.  I  took  a  dark  red 
silk  holaku,  trimmed  with  Persian  embroidery,  and 
Teuila  took  a  green  silk  one,  in  which  to  appear 
before  royalty.     Long  before  we  got  to  the  village 

*  It  will  be  remembered  that  Teuila  was  the  native  name  of  Mrs. 
Stevenson's  daughter. 


THE   HAPPY  YEARS  IN  SAMOA       211 

we  could  see  the  middle  part  of  an  immense  native 
house  rising  up  like  a  church  spire.  Mataafa's  own 
house  was  the  largest  and  finest  I  had  ever  seen,  and 
there  were  others  as  large.  Louis  tried  in  vain  to 
get  an  interpreter,  but  was  fain  to  put  up  with  Talolo, 
who  nearly  expired  with  fright  and  misery,  for  he 
could  not  speaJi  the  high  chief  language  and  felt  that 
every  word  he  uttered  was  an  insult  to  Mataafa. 
We  have  been  in  the  habit  of  referring  to  the  king  as 
'Charley  over  the  water,'  and  toasting  him  by  waving 
our  glasses  over  the  water  bottle.  Talolo  had  some 
vague  notion  of  what  this  meant  and  now  thought 
it  a  good  time  to  do  the  same.  To  our  great  amuse- 
ment, he  took  his  glass,  waved  it  in  the  air,  and  cried 
*  Charley  in  the  water ! '  which  we  felt  to  be  a  rather 
ominous  toast.  His  translations  of  *  Charley's '  words 
came  to  little  more  than  'Mataafa  very  much  sur- 
prised (pleased),'  but  Louis  knew  enough  Samoan  to 
make  a  little  guess  at  what  was  going  on.  The  hava 
bowl  was  in  the  centre  of  the  group,  with  the  king's 
talking  men  beside  it.  Kava  was  first  given  to  the 
king  and  Louis  simultaneously — a  great  honor  for 
Louis — then  to  Teuila  and  me.  The  king  evidently 
supposed  us  both  to  be  wives  of  Louis,  and  was  much 
puzzled  as  to  which  was  the  superior  in  station,  a 
dilemma  which  was  fijially  neatly  solved  by  serving 
us  both  at  the  same  moment.  I  had  seen  that  it  was 
chewed  hava*  but  In  my  weariness  after  the  long 
journey  I  forgot  that  fact  before  it  came  my  turn  to 

*  In  the  old  times  kava,  or  ava,  as  it  is  sometimes  spelled,  was  prepared 
by  being  chewed  by  young  girls  especially  chosen  for  the  purpose,  and 
then  made  into  a  brew, 


212     LIFE  OF  MRS.  R.   L.  STEVENSON 

drink.  Before  the  bowl  was  offered  to  the  king  a 
libation  was  poured  out  and  fresh  water  from  a  cocoa- 
nut  shell  was  sprinkled  first  to  the  right  and  then  to 
the  left.  The  talking  man  and  the  others  made 
polite  orations,  one  of  them  likening  Louis  to  Jesus 
Christ,  at  which  Talolo  manifested  sighs  of  acute 
embarrassment.  We  were  then  offered  a  little  re- 
freshment before  dinner.  The  king,  who  was  a  Cath- 
olic, crossed  himself  and  said  grace.  A  folded  leaf 
containing  a  quantity  of  arrowroot  cooked  in  cocoanut 
milk  by  dropping  in  hot  stones  was  placed  before 
each  of  us,  and  each  had  the  milk  of  a  fresh  young 
nut  to  drink.  The  arrowroot  was  grateful  but  diffi- 
cult to  manage,  on  account  of  the  stickiness,  and  a 
little  gritty  with  sand  from  the  stones.  We  were 
then  invited  to  take  a  siesta  behind  an  immense  cur- 
tain of  iajpa  that  had  been  hung  across  one  end  of  the 
room.  There  mats  and  pillows  were  laid  for  Teuila 
and  me,  and  in  a  few  seconds  we  were  fast  asleep. 
In  an  hour  and  a  half  we  waked  simultaneously  and 
found  dinner  waiting  for  us.  Louis  then  offered  his 
present — a  hundred-pound  keg  of  beef — and  the  talk- 
ing man  went  outside  and  informed  the  populace,  in 
stentorian  tones,  of  the  nature  and  amount  of  the 
present  received.  We  ate  of  pig,  fowl,  and  tarOi  in 
civilized  fashion,  sitting  on  chairs  and  using  plates, 
tumblers,  spoons,  knives,  and  forks.  After  a  walk 
about  the  village  we  all  sat  on  mats  under  the  eaves 
and  conversed.  A  distant  sound  of  singing  was  heard, 
and  soon  a  procession  of  young  men  in  wreaths,  walk- 
ing two  by  two,  came  up  to  us  and  each  deposited  a 
root  of  tarOt  to  which  the  king  added  a  couple  of 


THE   HAPPY  YEARS  IN  SAMOA       213 

young  fowls,  and  an  immense  root  of  fresh  kava. 
Speeches  were  made,  after  which  mats  were  spread 
out  for  the  dancers,  who  had  been  called  by  the  sound 
of  a  bugle.  There  were  two  long  rows  of  them,  with 
two  comic  men  and  a  hunchback,  apparently  the 
king's  jester.  They  first  sang  a  song  of  welcome  to 
us,  and  then  sang,  danced,  and  acted  several  pieces — 
all  well  done  and  some  very  droll  indeed.  The  hunch- 
back excelled  particularly  in  an  imitation  of  a  circus 
that  was  here  not  long  since,  Louis  could  not  speak 
successfully  through  Talolo,  as  he  had  more  to  say 
than  '  much  surprised,'  so  we  then  took  our  departure. 
We  returned  by  moonlight,  all  ardent  admirers  of 
Mataafa.  About  a  week  later  Louis  went  again,  this 
time  with  an  interpreter  named  Charley  Taylor,  and 
had  a  more  satisfactory  interview.  In  the  early 
morning,  at  about  four,  he  was  awakened  by  the 
sound  of  some  sort  of  pipe  playing  a  curious  air. 
When  he  inquired  about  this  Mataafa  told  him  that 
he  always  had  this  performance  at  the  time  of  the 
singing  of  the  early  birds,  as  it  conduced  to  pleasant 
dreams.  His  father,  he  added,  would  never  allow  a 
bird  or  animal  to  be  injured,  and,  in  consequence, 
was  called  the  'king  of  the  birds.'" 

As  the  war-cloud  grew  blacker,  the  superstitious 
fears  of  Lafaele  increased,  and  every  day  some  new 
portent  was  reported.  "On  May  16,"  says  the  diary, 
"Lafaele  and  Araki  reported  that  while  walking  on 
the  road  they  met  Louis  riding  on  my  horse  Musu. 
What  was  their  surprise  and  terror  when  they  reached 
home  to  find  that  he  had  not  left  the  house  all  day. 
Great  anxiety  and  alarm  are  felt  all  over  the  place. 


214     LIFE  OF  INIRS.  R.   L.   STEVENSON 

for  it  is  supposed  that  Louis  sent  his  other  self  to  see 
what  Lafaele  and  Araki  were  about."  Araki  was  a 
runaway  "black  boy,"  or  Solomon  Islander,  from  the 
German  plantations,  who  became  a  member  of  the 
Vailima  household  in  a  rather  dramatic  way.  One 
day  a  strange  figure  was  seen  jflitting  about  the  la\Mi 
behind  the  trees.  The  servants  ran  out  and  dragged 
in  a  thin,  terrified  black  boy,  who  fell  on  his  face 
before  the  master  and  begged  for  protection.  Such 
a  plea  could  not  be  refused,  and  IVlr.  Stevenson  went 
down  to  the  German  firm  and  made  arrangements  to 
keep  him.  He  soon  began  to  fill  out,  and  grew  to  be 
a  saucy,  lively  fellow.  Although  the  natives  of  Samoa 
look  upon  the  Solomon  Islanders  as  cannibals  and 
savages,  at  Vailima  they  made  a  pet  of  Araki  and 
dyed  his  bushy  hair  red  and  hung  wreaths  round  his 
neck. 

*'May  19.  This  is  the  twelfth  anniversary  of  our 
marriage.  It  seems  impossible.  Also  impossible  that 
two  years  ago  (or  a  little  more)  we  came  up  to  live 
in  the  bush.  Everything  looks  settled  and  as  though 
we  had  lived  here  for  many  years. 

*'May  22.  Saturday  the  captain  of  the  ZTpolu 
came  up  and  had  luncheon  with  us.  We  had  nothing 
but  vegetables,  curried  and  cooked  in  various  ways, 
but  no  meat.  Sunday  there  came  a  German  vege- 
tarian when  there  were  no  vegetables  and  nothing 
but  meat.  .  .  .  We  are  having  a  great  deal  of 
trouble  with  the  servants,  as  Tomasi,  the  Fiji  man, 
says  his  wife,  Elena,  is  too  good  to  associate  with  the 
other  women,  and  Lafaele's  little  girl  is  terribly 
afraid  of  Araki,  the  black  boy,  although  he  speaks  of 


THE  HAPPY  YEARS  IN  SAMOA       215 

her  most  tenderly  as  *that  little  girlie.'  When  the 
last  litter  of  pigs  was  born,  each  family  on  the  place 
was  given  a  pig.  Elena  chose  a  spotted  boar,  which 
she  named  Sale  Taylor,  and  Lafaele  took  what  he 
calls  a  'mare  pig,'  that  is,  a  little  sow.  Both  pigs 
have  been  tamed  and  trot  around  after  Elena  and 
Fanua  like  pug  dogs.  They  go  to  bed  with  their 
mistresses  every  night  like  babies,  and  must  also  be 
fed  once  in  the  night  with  milk  like  babies.  Both 
pigs  came  to  prayers  this  morning.  .  .  .  Talolo's 
brother,  a  beautiful  young  boy,  has  elephantiasis.* 
He  has  had  it  for  a  long  time — about  a  year — but 
was  afraid  to  tell.  Worse  than  that  has  happened; 
one  of  our  boys  had  a  fit  of  insanity,  during  which  it 
required  the  exertions  of  the  entire  household  to 
restrain  him  from  running  off  into  the  bush  and  losing 
himself.  It  became  necessary  to  tie  him  down  to 
the  bed  with  strips  of  sheeting  and  ropes.  The 
strangest  thing  about  this  occurrence  is  that  Lafaele 
restored  him  to  his  senses  in  a  short  time  by  chewing 
up  certain  leaves  that  he  brought  from  the  bush 
and  then  putting  them  into  the  sick  boy's  ears  and 
nostrils.  I  had  a  talk  with  Lafaele  about  his  remedy. 
He  told  me  that  in  case  of  lockjaw,  if  these  chewed 
leaves  are  forced  up  the  nostrils,  first  the  jaw,  then 
the  muscles,  will  soon  relax  and  the  cure  is  accom- 
plished. For  some  reason  he  seems  unwilling  to  point 
out  the  tree  to  me.  .  .  .    Talolo  aflfords  us  much 

*  A  disease  of  the  tropics,  said  to  be  transmitted  by  the  bite  of  mosqui- 
toes, which  causes  enormous  enlargement  of  the  parts  affected.  Mrs. 
Stevenson  cured  this  boy,  Mitaele,  of  elephantiasis  by  Dr.  Punk's  remedy 
of  rubbing  the  diseased  vein  with  blue  ointment  and  giving  him  a  certain 
prescribed  drug. 


216     LIFE  OF  MRS.   R.   L.  STEVENSON 

amusement  with  his  naive  ideas.  I  said  to  him,  'It 
seems  to  me  that  you  Samoans  do  not  feel  badly 
about  anything  very  long,'  'Yes,  we  do,'  said  Ta- 
lolo,  seeming  much  hurt  by  the  accusation.  'When 
a  man's  wife  runs  away  he  feels  badly  for  two  or 
three  days.' 

''July  3,  1893.  Nothing  is  talked  of  or  thought  of 
but  the  impending  war.  One  of  our  former  men 
came  up  yesterday  to  draw  out  his  wages.  I  asked 
him  if  he  meant  to  act  like  a  coward  and  take  heads 
of  wounded  men.  He  said  he  meant  to  take  all  the 
heads  he  could  get.  I  reasoned  with  him,  as  did 
Lloyd,  but  he  stood  respectfully  firm,  saying  that 
each  people  had  its  own  customs.  I  am  afraid  the 
government  has  not  thought  to  forbid  this  abomina- 
tion, or  has  not  dared. 

''July  8.  News  comes  that  the  fighting  has  begun, 
and  that  eleven  heads  have  been  taken  to  Mulinuu,* 
and,  worst  of  all,  that  one  of  the  heads  is  that  of  a 
village  maid,  a  thing  before  unheard-of  among  Sa- 
moans. 

"July  10.  Mataafa  is  routed,  and,  after  burning 
Malie,  has  fled  to  Manono.  His  son  was  killed  with 
a  hatchet  and  his  head  taken.  In  all  we  hear  of 
three  heads  of  women  being  brought  in  to  Mulinuu. 
^Mien  Mataafa  was  the  man  before  whom  all  trem- 
bled we  offered  him  our  friendship  and  broke  bread 
with  him.  If  I  gave  him  loyalty  then,  fifty  thousand 
times  more  do  I  give  it  now." 

At  last  the  smoke  and  thunder  of  war  rolled  away, 
and  peace  and  security  came  once  more  to  dwell  at 

*  Mulinuu  was  the  seat  of  government.     King  Malietoa  lived  there. 


THE  HAPPY  YEARS  IN  SAMOA       217 

Vailima.  Enterlainments  and  gaieties  again  made 
the  place  lively.  Mrs.  Strong*  describes  one  of  these 
affairs  in  a  letter  to  Mr.  Stevenson's  mother: 

"I  suppose  Louis  will  write  and  tell  you  of  the 
grand  day  we  had  here  when  tlie  sailors  of  the  Ka- 
toomba  were  invited  up  here  to  play.  We  had  twenty- 
four  people  on  tlie  place — natives,  house  boys,  out- 
side boys,  and  contractors — and  the  house  was  gor- 
geously decorated  with  ferns  and  moso'oi  flowers. 
One  large  table  was  piled  high  with  cocoanuts,  oranges, 
lemons,  passion  fruit,  pineapples,  mangoes,  and  even 
a  large  pumpkin  and  some  ripe  tomatoes,  besides 
three  huge  bowls  of  lemonade.  The  other  table  had 
seven  baked  chickens,  ham  sandwiches,  cakes  and 
coffee — lots  of  all.  At  half-past  twelve  we  saw  the 
white  caps  bobbing  at  the  gate,  and  sent  Simile  down 
to  meet  them.  He  was  dressed  in  a  dark  coat  and 
lavalava  and  white  shirt,  and  looked  very  swagger 
indeed.  The  sailors  all  saluted  Simile  as  he  appeared, 
and  in  another  moment — boom,  bang,  and  the  band 
burst  out  with  the  big  drum  in  full  swing,  with  the 
men,  fourteen  of  them,  all  marching  in  time.  The 
faces  of  our  Samoans  were  stricken  with  amazement 
as  the  jackies  marched  up  to  the  lawn  in  the  blazing 
sun  and  finished  the  piece.  The  veranda  was  crowded 
with  our  people,  all  in  wreaths  of  flowers,  and  a  num- 
ber of  guests  were  there  to  witness  the  festivities. 
Well,  we  fed  our  sailors,  who  were  all  very  red  and 
hot  and  smiling,  and  the  way  they  dipped  into  the 
lemonade  was  a  caution.  Then,  to  a  guitar  accom- 
paniment, one  of  them  sang  a   song  with  a  melo- 

*  Now  Mrs.  Salisbury  Field. 


218     LIFE  OF  MRS.   R.   L.   STEVENSON 

dramatic  story  running  through  it  about  a  poor  fellow 
going  to  a  house  and  sitting  on  the  doorstep  wan  and 
weary,  and  seeing  on  the  doorplate  tlie  name  of  Jas- 
per. Soon  Jasper  comes  out,  and  though  the  poverty- 
stricken  one  pleads  for  a  bit  of  bread  he's  told  to  go 
to  the  workhouse.  *I  pays  my  taxes,'  says  the  heart- 
less Jasper,  'and  to  the  workhouse  you  must  go.' 
'And  who  would  have  thought  it,'  goes  the  chorus, 
'for  we  were  schoolmytes,   schoolmytes !' " 

A  devastating  epidemic  of  measles,  much  aggravated 
by  the  improper  treatment  given  to  patients  by  the 
natives,  now  broke  out.  Even  Vailima  did  not  escape 
its  ravages,  and  Mrs.  Strong  writes  of  it  on  October  8: 

"Everybody  is  well  of  the  measles  by  now  and  all 
are  crawling  out  into  the  sunshine.  There  have  been 
a  hundred  and  fifty  deaths  on  this  island  alone.  Our 
Sosimo  was  taken  ill  down  in  the  town.  Tamaitai 
and  I  went  down  to  see  him,  and,  finding  him  in  a 
wretched  state,  had  him  brought  home  in  a  native 
sling  on  a  pole,  the  way  they  carry  wounded  soldiers. 
None  of  our  people  died,  for  they  willingly  accepted 
our  rules  for  their  care." 

After  the  war  was  over,  it  was  found  that  the  stress 
and  excitement  of  it  all  had  told  on  Mr.  Stevenson's 
health,  and  in  the  early  part  of  September  he  went 
to  Honolulu  for  a  change.  The  trip  was  a  disap- 
pointment, for  he  was  taken  quite  seriously  ill  there, 
and  his  wife  had  to  take  steamer  and  go  after  him, 
arriving  in  a  state  of  great  anxiety.  Under  her  tender 
care  he  soon  recovered  and  they  returned  to  Vailima. 

In  Samoa,  Tusitala  was  not  the  only  "teller  of 
tales,"  for  all  sorts  of  strange  stories — some  amusing. 


THE  HAPPY  YEARS  IN  SAMOA       219 

some  scurrilous  and  malicious — were  invented  about 
the  family  at  Vailima  and  ran  current  in  the  gossip 
"on  the  beach."  One  of  the  most  fantastic  of  these 
inventions  was  that  Mr.  Stevenson  had  been  married 
before  to  a  native  woman,  and  that  Mrs.  Strong* 
was  his  half-caste  daughter  by  this  marriage.  Tlie 
one  advantage  about  this  peculiar  story  was  the 
hilarious  fun  he  was  able  to  get  out  of  it.  He  made 
up  all  kinds  of  wonderful  romances  about  the  supposi- 
titious first  wife,  who  he  said  was  a  native  of  Morocco, 
"black,  but  a  damned  fine  woman."  When  Mrs. 
Stevenson  scolded  him  for  not  wearing  his  cloak  in 
the  rain  he  pretended  to  weep  and  said:  "Moroccy 
never  spoke  to  me  like  that ! "  One  evening  Mrs. 
Strong  heard  gay  laughter  in  her  mother's  room,  and, 
going  in  to  see  what  it  was  about,  found  her  mother 
sitting  up  in  bed  laughing,  while  Louis  walked  up 
and  down  the  room  gesticulating  and  telling  her  the 
"true  story"  of  his  affair  with  Moroccy. 

So  passed  all  too  swiftly  three  full  years — years 
crowded  with  work  and  play  and  many  rare  experi- 
ences— and  less  darkly  shadowed  by  the  spectre  that 
had  stalked  beside  them  ever  since  their  marriage. 
For  this  short  space  he  knew  what  it  was  to  live  like 
a  man,  not  like  a  "pallid  weevil  in  a  biscuit,"  and  she, 
though  her  vigilance  was  never  relaxed  for  a  mo- 
ment, breathed  somewhat  more  freely.  The  days 
sped  happily  by,  until  Thanksgiving,  November  29, 
1894,  which  was  celebrated  with  an  elaborate  dinner 
at  Vailima.     Mrs.  Stevenson  was  anxious  to  have  this 

*  Mrs.  Strong  will  be  remembered  as  the  little  Isobel  Osboume  of  the 
early  pages  of  this  book. 


220     LIFE  OF  MRS.  R.   L.   STEVENSON 

a  truly  American  feast,  from  tlie  turkey  to  the  last 
detail,  but  cranberries  were  not  to  be  had,  so  she  pro- 
duced a  satisfactory  substitute  from  a  native  berry, 
and  under  her  careful  supervision  her  native  servants 
succeeded  in  setting  out  a  dinner  that  would  have 
satisfied  even  an  old  Plymouth  Rock  Puritan.  At 
the  dinner,  the  last  entertainment  taken  part  in  by 
Mr.  Stevenson,  in  enumerating  his  reasons  for  thank- 
fulness, he  spoke  of  his  wife,  who  had  been  all  in  all 
to  him  when  the  days  were  very  dark,  and  rejoiced 
in  their  undiminished  affection. 

A  day  or  two  afterwards  she  was  seized  with  a  pre- 
sentiment of  impending  evil — a  formless  shadow  that 
seemed  to  settle  down  upon  her  spirit,  and  that  no 
argument  could  relieve.  Her  mother-in-law  writes: 
"I  must  tell  you  a  very  strange  thing  that  happened 
just  before  his  death.  For  a  day  or  two  Fanny  had 
been  telling  us  that  she  knew — that  she  felt — some- 
thing dreadful  was  going  to  happen  to  some  one  we 
cared  for;  as  she  put  it,  to  one  of  our  friends.  On 
Monday  she  was  very  low  and  upset  about  it  and 
dear  Lou  tried  to  cheer  her.  Strangely  enough,  both 
of  them  had  agreed  that  it  could  not  be  to  either  of 
them  that  the  dreadful  thing  was  to  happen." 

On  the  afternoon  of  December  3,  1894,  according 
to  their  custom  he  took  his  morning's  work  for  her 
criticism.  She  quickly  perceived  that  in  this,  which 
neither  dreamed  was  to  be  the  last  work  of  his  pen, 
his  genius  had  risen  to  its  highest  level,  and  she 
poured  out  her  praise  in  a  way  that  was  unusual  with 
her.  It  was  almost  with  her  words  of  commendation 
still  ringing  in  his  ears  that  he  passed  to  the  great 


THE  HAPPY  YEARS  IN  SAMOA       221 

beyond.  lu  a  letter  addressed  to  his  friends  shortly 
afterwards,  Lloyd  Osbourne  gives  us  the  details  of 
these  last  moments: 

"At  sunset  he  came  down-stairs,  rallied  his  wife 
about  the  forebodings  she  could  not  shake  off;  talked 
of  a  lecturing  tour  to  America  that  he  was  eager  to 
make,  'as  he  was  now  so  well,'  and  played  a  game  of 
cards  with  her  to  drive  away  her  melancholy.  He 
said  he  was  hungry;  begged  her  assistance  to  help  him 
make  a  salad  for  the  evening  meal;  and  to  enhance 
the  little  feast  he  brought  up  a  bottle  of  old  Burgundy 
from  the  cellar.  He  was  helping  his  wife  on  the 
veranda,  and  gaily  talking,  w^hen  suddenly  he  put 
both  hands  to  his  head  and  cried  out:  '^Vhat's  that.'*' 
Then  he  asked  quickly:  'Do  I  look  strange?'  Even 
as  he  did  so,  he  fell  on  his  knees  beside  her."  Just  as 
he  had  leaned  upon  her  for  help,  comfort,  and  advice 
for  so  many  years  of  his  life,  so  it  was  at  her  feet  that 
he  sank  in  death  when  the  last  swift  summons  came. 
He  was  helped  into  the  great  hall  between  his  wife 
and  his  body  servant,  Sosimo,  and  at  ten  minutes 
past  eight  the  same  evening,  Monday,  December  3, 
1894,  he  passed  away. 

Her  great  task  was  finished,  and  she  sat  with  folded 
hands  in  the  quiet  house  from  which  the  soul  had  fled; 
but,  although  the  lightning  suddenness  of  the  blow 
made  it  almost  a  crushing  one,  the  bitterness  of  her 
grief  was  greatly  softened  by  her  firm  belief  in  a  life 
beyond  the  grave  and  the  certainty  of  a  reunion  with 
liim  there. 

She  bore  this  supreme  sorrow  with  the  same  silent 
fortitude  with  which  she  had  always  met  trouble,  but 


222     LIFE  OF  IVIRS.   R.   L.   STEVENSON 

a  subtle  change  came  over  her.  Wliile  it  could  not 
be  said  that  she  looked  exactly  old,  yet  the  youthful- 
ness  for  which  she  had  been  so  remarkable  seemed 
suddenly  to  vanish,  and  her  hair  grew  rapidly  grey. 
A  little  child — Frank  Norris's  daughter — said,  with 
an  acuteness  beyond  her  years:  "Tamaitai  smiles 
with  her  lips,  but  not  with  her  eyes." 

Among  the  hundreds  of  letters  of  condolence  which 
she  received  from  all  over  the  world,  none,  perhaps, 
came  more  directly  from  the  heart  than  that  written 
by  her  old  friend,  Henry  James  from  which  I  have 
taken  the  following  extracts; 

"My  deak  Fanny  Stevenson: 

"What  can  I  say  to  you  that  will  not  seem  cruelly 
irrelevant  or  vain  ?  We  have  been  sitting  in  darkness 
for  nearly  a  fortnight,  but  what  is  our  darkness  to  the 
extinction  of  your  magnificent  light  ^  You  will  prob- 
ably know  in  some  degree  what  has  happened  to  us — 
how  the  hideous  news  first  came  to  us  via  Auckland, 
etc.,  and  then  how,  in  the  newspapers,  a  doubt  was 
raised  about  its  authenticity — just  enough  to  give 
one  a  flicker  of  hope;  until  your  telegram  to  me  via 
San  Francisco — repeated  also  from  other  sources — 
converted  my  pessimistic  convictions  into  the  wretched 
knowledge.  All  this  time  my  thoughts  have  hovered 
round  you  all,  around  you  in  particular,  with  a  ten- 
derness of  which  I  could  have  wished  you  might  have, 
afar-off,  the  divination.  You  are  such  a  visible  pic- 
ture of  desolation  that  I  need  to  remind  myself  that 
courage,  and  patience,  and  fortitude  are  also  abun- 
dantly with  you.     The  devotion  that  Louis  inspired 


THE   HAPPY  YEARS  IN   SAMOA       223 

— and  of  which  all  the  ah-  about  you  must  be  full — 
must  also  be  much  to  you.  Yet  as  I  write  the  word, 
indeed,  I  am  almost  ashamed  of  it — as  if  anything 
could  be  'much'  in  the  presence  of  such  an  abysmal 
void.  To  have  lived  in  the  light  of  that  splendid  life, 
that  beautiful,  bountiful  being — only  to  see  it,  from 
one  moment  to  the  other,  converted  into  a  fable  as 
strange  and  romantic  as  one  of  his  own,  a  thing  that 
las  been  and  has  ended,  is  an  anguish  into  which  no 
one  can  enter  with  you  fully  and  of  which  no  one  can 
drain  the  cup  for  you.  You  are  nearest  to  the  pain, 
because  you  were  nearest  the  joy  and  the  pride.  But 
if  it  is  anything  to  you  to  know  that  no  woman  was 
ever  more  felt  with  and  that  your  personal  grief  is  the 
intensely  personal  grief  of  innumerable  hearts — ^know 
it  well,  my  dear  Fanny  Stevenson,  for  during  all  these 
days  there  has  been  friendship  for  you  in  the  very 
air.  For  myself,  how  shall  I  tell  you  how  much 
poorer  and  shabbier  the  whole  world  seems,  and  how 
one  of  the  closest  and  strongest  reasons  for  going  on, 
for  trying  and  doing,  for  planning  and  dreaming  of 
the  future,  has  dropped  in  an  instant  out  of  life.  I 
was  haunted  indeed  with  a  sense  that  I  should  never 
again  see  him — ^but  it  was  one  of  the  best  things  in 
life  that  he  was  therei  or  that  one  had  him — at  any 
rate  one  heard  him*  and  felt  him  and  awaited  him 
and  counted  him  into  everything  one  most  loved  and 
lived  for.  He  lighted  up  one  whole  side  of  the  globe, 
aaid  was  in  himself  a  whole  province  of  one's  unagina- 
tion.  We  are  smaller  fry  and  meaner  people  without 
liim.  I  feel  as  if  there  were  a  certain  indelicacy  in 
saying  it  to  you,  save  that  I  know  that  there  is  noth- 


224     LIFE   OF  MRS.   R.   L.   STEVENSON 

ing  narrow  or  selfish  in  your  sense  of  loss — for  him- 
self, however,  for  his  happy  name  and  his  great  visible 
good  fortune,  it  stril^es  one  as  anotlier  matter.  I 
mean  that  I  feel  him  to  have  been  as  happy  in  his 
death  (struck  down  that  way,  as  by  the  gods,  in  a 
dear,  glorious  hour)  as  he  had  been  in  his  fame.  And, 
with  all  the  sad  allowances  in  his  rich  full  life,  he  had 
the  best  of  it — the  thick  of  the  fray,  the  loudest  of 
the  music,  the  freshest  and  finest  of  himself.  It 
isn't  as  if  there  had  been  no  full  achievement  and  no 
supreme  thing.  It  was  all  intense,  all  gallant,  all 
exquisite  from  the  first,  and  the  experience,  the  fru- 
ition, had  something  dramatically  complete  in  them. 
He  has  gone  in  time  not  to  be  old,  early  enough  to 
be  so  generously  young  and  late  enough  to  have 
drunk  deep  of  the  cup.  There  have  been — I  think — 
for  men  of  letters  few  deaths  more  romantically  right. 
Forgive  me,  I  beg  you,  what  may  sound  cold-blooded 
in  such  words — or  as  if  I  imagined  there  could  be 
anything  for  you  'right'  in  the  rupture  of  such  an 
affection  and  the  loss  of  such  a  presence.  I  have  in 
my  mind  in  that  view  only  the  rounded  career  and 
the  consecrated  work.  When  I  think  of  your  own 
situation  I  fall  into  a  mere  confusion  of  pity  and 
wonder,  with  the  sole  sense  of  your  being  as  brave  a 
spirit  as  he  was  (all  of  whose  bravery  you  shared)  to 
hold  on  by.  Of  what  solutions  or  decisions  you  see 
before  you  we  shall  hear  in  time;  meanwhile  please 
believe  that  I  am  most  affectionately  with  you.  .  .  . 
More  than  I  can  say,  I  hope  your  first  prostration 
and  bewilderment  are  over,  and  that  you  are  feeling 
your  way  in  feeling  all  sorts,  of  encompassing  arms — 


THE  HAPPY  YEARS  IN  SAMOA       225 

all  sorts  of  outstretched  hands  of  friendship.  Don't; 
my  dear  Fanny  Stevenson,  be  unconscious  of  mine, 
and  believe  me  more  than  ever  faithfully  yours, 

** Henry  James."* 

With  this  and  the  many  other  letters  came  one 
written  in  pencil  on  a  scrap  of  paper,  unsigned: 

"Mrs.  Stevenson. 

"Dear  Madam: — All  over  the  world  people  will  be 
sorry  for  the  death  of  Robert  Louis  Stevenson,  but 
none  will  mourn  him  more  than  the  blind  white  leper 
at  Molokai." 

*  Quoted  by  courtasy  of  Henry  James  of  New  York,  nephew  of  *h# 
novriifit. 


CHAPTER  IX 
THE  LONELY  DAYS  OF  WIDOWHOOD 

As  the  slow,  empty  days  passed,  the  weight  of  her 
sorrow  bore  more  and  more  heavily  upon  her  and  she 
grew  steadily  weaker.  Finally,  the  doctors  said  the 
only  thing  was  change,  so,  in  April,  1895,  she  set  sail 
with  her  family  for  San  Francisco. 

On  the  way  a  stop  was  made  in  Honolulu,  where 
Mrs.  Stevenson  was  deeply  distressed  to  find  the 
provisional  government  in  control  and  her  old  friend, 
Queen  Liliuokalani,  imprisoned.  The  deposed  queen 
was  kept  in  lolani  Palace  under  close  guard,  and  os- 
tensibly debarred  from  all  visitors,  but  one  must  pre- 
sume the  guard  not  to  have  been  so  strict  as  it  seemed, 
for  IMrs.  Stevenson  was  able  to  gain  entrance  and 
secure  an  audience  with  the  royal  prisoner  through 
the  not  very  dignified  avenue  of  the  kitchen-door  of 
the  palace.  When  she  gave  expression  to  her  pro- 
found sjonpathy  and  indignation  at  the  turn  affairs 
had  taken,  Liliuokalani  replied  that  she  wished  she 
had  had  Louis  to  advise  her  in  her  dark  hours. 

A  summer  without  special  incident  was  spent  in 
California — a  grey  summer  for  her,  for  her  son  and 
daughter  tried  in  vain  to  interest  her  in  things  there. 
Her  health  improved,  but  she  cared  for  nothing  out- 
side of  Samoa  and  only  yearned  to  go  back  and  be 
near  the  grave  on  Mount  Vaea,  so  in  the  autumn  they 
again  turned  their  faces  toward  the  Pacific  Isles. 

226 


THE   LONELY  DAYS   OF   WIDOWHOOD     2£7 

When  they  left  San  Francisco  they  had  added  an- 
other member  to  their  party — a  small  donkey  named 
Dicky,  given  to  Mrs.  Stevenson  by  one  of  the  Golden 
Gate  Park  commissioners,  which  she  intended  to  use 
in  driving  about  the  plantation  to  a  little  Studebaker 
cart  she  had  had  made  especially  for  the  purpose. 
A  little  stable  was  put  up  on  deck  for  Dicky  and  a 
bale  of  hay  provided  for  him,  but  it  was  not  long 
before  the  little  fellow  had  become  such  a  pet  with 
the  carpenter  and  his  mates  that  he  was  taken  into 
the  forecastle  to  live  with  them  and  share  their  mess, 
eating  his  meals  out  of  a  tin  plate.  The  men  taught 
him  many  amusing  tricks,  and  it  got  to  be  quite  the 
thing  for  the  cabin  passengers  to  make  trips  down  to 
the  forecastle  to  see  him  do  them  and  to  feed  him 
chocolate  creams.  At  Waikiki  Beach,  where  they 
lived  in  a  cottage  attached  to  the  Sans  Souci  Hotel 
during  their  stay  of  several  months  in  Hawaii,  Mrs. 
Stevenson  often  drove  about  the  park  in  the  little 
cart  which  was  just  fitted  to  Dicky.  She  was  sur- 
prised at  first  to  find  that  he  would  only  make  short 
trips  and  then  come  to  a  dead  stop,  from  which  it  was 
impossible  to  budge  him.  Nothing  would  make  him 
go  on  until  his  mistress  got  out  and  in  again,  and 
then  he  would  pick  up  his  little  feet  and  trot  on  for 
another  five  minutes,  when  the  same  performance 
would  have  to  be  repeated.  At  last  they  realized 
that  he  had  been  trained  to  make  five-cent  trips  at 
Golden  Gate  Park,  and  that  nothing  would  ever 
break  him  of  it.  When  they  left  Honolulu  for  Samoa 
they  had  difficulty  in  getting  him  on  board  the 
steamer,  for  although  there  was  a  belt  and  tackle  to 


228     LIFE  OF  MRS.  R.   L.  STEVENSON 

hoist  him  up,  they  could  not  drag  him  to  it.  One  man 
—then  two — then  finally  six  men  were  hauling  at 
him,  while  the  ship  waited,  with  all  passengers  on 
board  and  surveying  the  scene  with  intense  amuse- 
ment. The  captain  suddenly  shouted  through  a  mega- 
phone: ''Pull  him  the  other  way  !"  They  did  so  and 
he  immediately  backed  right  up  to  the  tackle  and 
was  hauled  on  deck  amid  the  plaudits  of  the  multi- 
tude. At  Samoa  he  was  a  great  pet;  the  native  girls 
loved  him  and  took  him  with  them  when  they  went 
to  cut  alfalfa  for  the  cows.  They  made  a  pretty  pic- 
ture coming  through  the  forest — the  girls  in  leaves 
and  flowers  and  Dicky  a  walking  mountain  of  green, 
with  only  his  long  ears  sticking  out  and  his  bright 
eyes  gleaming  through  the  foliage. 

Honolulu  brought  back  to  Mrs.  Stevenson  many 
poignant  memories  of  other  days,  of  which  she  wrote 
to  her  mother-in-law  in  these  words: 

"As  you  suppose,  this  has  been  a  sad  season  with 
me.  People  say  that  one  gets  used  to  things  with 
time,  but  I  do  not  believe  it.  Every  day  seems 
harder  for  me  to  bear.  I  say  to  myself  many  com- 
forting things,  but  even  though  I  believe  them  they 
do  not  comfort  me.  Everything  here  reminds  me  of 
Louis,  and  I  do  not  think  there  is  one  moment  that  I 
am  not  thinking  of  him.  People  say : '  What  a  comfort 
his  great  name  must  be  to  you  ! '  It  is  a  pride  to  me, 
but  not  a  comfort;  I  would  rather  have  my  Louis 
here  with  me,  poor  and  unknown.  And  I  do  not  lilce 
to  have  my  friends  offer  me  their  sympathy — only 
you  and  one  or  two  who  loved  him  for  what  he  was 
and  not  for  what  he  did.  ...     As  to  his  Christianity 


THE  LONELY  DAYS  OF  WIDOWHOOD    229 

his  life  and  work  show  what  he  was.  I  know  that 
whether  or  not  he  always  succeeded  in  living  up  to 
his  intentions,  he  was  a  true  follower  of  Christ,  a  real 
Christian,  and  not  many  have  come  as  close  as  he; 
and  I  believe  that  not  many  have  tried  as  honestly 
and  earnestly.  In  this  place  everything  reminds  me 
of  him,  and  I  feel  that  I  must  see  him.  I  cannot  be- 
lieve that  all  these  months  have  passed  since  he  left 
us.  Perhaps  the  whole  time  will  not  seem  so  long 
until  we  meet  again.  It  gives  me  a  sharp  shock  when 
I  hear  him  spoken  of  as  dead.  He  is  not  dead  to  me 
—I  cannot  think  it  nor  feel  it.  He  is  only  waiting,  I 
seem  to  feel,  somewhere  near  at  hand." 

After  a  winter  spent  in  Hawaii,  during  which  the 
marriage  of  her  son  took  place,  Mrs.  Stevenson  and 
her  daughter  sailed,  in  May,  1896,  for  Samoa.  In 
these  various  trips  between  San  Francisco  and  the 
islands  she  usually  sailed  on  the  Mariposa,  and  be- 
cause she  had  so  much  baggage  Captain  Morse  and 
the  other  officers  took  to  calling  the  ship  "Mrs.  Ste- 
venson's lighter." 

Their  home-coming,  being  unexpected,  was  rather 
forlorn.  They  reached  Vailima  in  the  evening  and 
went  to  bed  rather  drearily  in  the  empty  house,  Mrs. 
Strong  having  determined  to  get  breakfast  as  best 
she  could  the  next  morning  and  then  send  out  word 
to  their  former  Samoan  helpers.  After  their  long 
journey  she  slept  late,  and,  springing  from  her  bed 
somewhat  guiltily,  ran  to  the  window.  What  was  her 
astonishment  to  see  smoke  coming  out  of  the  cook- 
house chimney,  Talolo  at  the  door,  and  lopu,  the 
yard  man,  coming  up  with  a  pail  of  water — all  the 


230     LIFE  OF  MRS.   R.   L.   STEVENSON 

business  of  the  place,  In  fact,  going  on  like  clockwork, 
just  as  though  they  had  never  been  absent  for  a  day ! 
Running  Into  her  mother's  room,  she  found  her  sit- 
ting up  In  bed  just  finishing  her  breakfast,  which  had 
been  brought  up  on  a  tray  by  Soslmo.  The  news 
had  gone  forth  the  night  before  that  they  had  re- 
turned, and  every  man  of  the  VaUima  force  was  at 
his  post  at  break  of  day. 

Once  more  the  lonely  widow  took  up  the  routine  of 
her  life,  and,  though  its  main  incentive  had  gone.  In 
time  there  came  to  her  a  sort  of  melancholy  satisfac- 
tion In  living  among  the  scenes  made  dear  b}^  memo- 
ries of  the  loved  one.  The  scale  on  which  the  house- 
hold had  been  conducted  was  now  cut  down  very 
much,  and  she  and  her  daughter,  retaining  but  a  few 
of  the  former  great  retinue  of  servants,  led  a  calm 
and  peaceful  life  among  their  tropic  flowers.  "Vai- 
lima  Is  so  lovely  now,"  "writes  Mrs.  Strong  to  the 
elder  INIrs.  Stevenson.  "The  trees  are  all  so  big,  and 
the  lilbiscus  hedge  is  over  ten  feet  high  and  blazing 
with  flowers.  The  lawn  is  like  velvet  and  everywhere 
the  grass  Is  knee-high.  If  It  Is  true  that  Louis  can  see 
us  from  another  world  he  would  be  pleased  with  this 
day.  This  is  the  day  when  we  decorate  the  grave, 
and  all  the  afternoon  people  kept  coming  with  flowers 
and  strange  Samoan  ornaments.  You  should  have 
seen  Leuelu's  sisters  In  silk  bodices  trimmed  with 
gold  braid,  and  gi-een  velvet  lavalavas  bordered  with 
plush  furniture  fringe !  And  they  looked  very  fine, 
too.  Once  arrived  on  the  mountain  top  we  stood 
looking  at  the  magnificent  view  of  the  sea,  and  the 
coral  reef,  and  the  distant  mountains.  We  banked 
the  grave  with  flowers  and  the  wreath  of  heather 


THE  LONELY  DAYS  OF  WIDOWHOOD    231 

that  you  sent.  Chief  Justice  Ide  and  his  two  beauti- 
ful daughters  were  there." 

Mother  and  daughter  spent  pleasant  days  in  the 
garden — digging  up  kava  roots,  stringing  them  on 
twine  and  hanging  them  up  in  the  hall  to  dry,  and 
in  many  another  homely  task.  In  the  evening  they 
played  chess,  and,  as  neither  knew  the  game,  they  were 
well  matched,  and  spent  engrossing  evenings  over  it. 
Sometimes  they  would  light  a  lantern  and  walk  over 
to  see  Mr.  Caruthers,  the  lawyer,  who  lived  more  than 
a  mile  away.  WTien  he  saw  the  flicker  of  their  lan- 
tern through  the  palm-trees  he  would  wind  up  his 
little  musical  box  and  they  could  hear  its  tinkle  of 
welcome.  "W^e  walked  barefoot,"*  says  Mrs.  Strong, 
"and  I  shall  never  forget  those  lovely  walks  at  night 
and  the  feel  of  the  soft,  mossy  grass  under  our  feet. 
Mr.  Caruthers  was  a  clever,  interesting  man.  His 
Samoan  wife  would  sit  by  sewmg,  and  his  children 
would  study  their  lessons  in  the  other  room  while  we 
sat  on  his  veranda  and  had  long  talks.  On  the  night 
of  his  farewell  visit  to  us  we  stood  on  the  veranda  at 
Vailima  and  looked  out  on  a  glittering  moonlight 
night,  the  lawn  sloping  before  us,  the  great  shadowy 
trees  beyond,  and  in  the  distance  the  blue  line  of  the 
sea — 'nothing  between  us  and  the  North  Pole,'  we 
used  to  say.  Mr.  Caruthers  said,  'How  can  you  leave 
this  for  any  other  country?  This  is  the  "cleaner, 
greener  land,"'  and  he  quoted  Kipling's  verses." 

The  two  women  lived  in  perfect  security  in  their 
lonely  forest  home,  never  having  the  slightest  fear  of 
the  natives  who  passed  that  way  in  their  comings  and 

*  It  is  the  custom  in  Samoa  to  go  barefoot  in  the  wet  season,  in  order 
to  avoid  the  unpleasantness  of  soggy  wet  shoes. 


232     LIFE   OF  MRS.   R.   L.   STEVENSON 

goings.  Once  in  the  middle  of  tlie  night  Mrs.  Strong 
was  waked  up  by  the  sound  of  voices  on  the  veranda, 
and,  running  down,  found  her  mother  surrounded  by 
twenty  Samoans,  all  with  baskets.  Mrs.  Stevenson, 
hearing  the  sound  of  talking,  had  come  down,  to  find 
these  men  coming  heavily  laden  from  the  direction  of 
the  Vailima  taro,  yam,  cocoanut,  and  banana  plan- 
tation. *'I  politely  asked  them,"  says  Mrs.  Strong, 
"to  show  my  mother  the  contents  of  their  baskets. 
They  agreed  readily  enough,  and  one  after  another 
they  opened  their  baskets  at  her  feet,  disclosing  noth- 
ing but  edible  wild  roots,  until  we  began  to  feel 
abashed  and  asked  them  to  desist.  Nothing  would 
do,  however,  but  that  each  of  the  twenty  should 
empty  out  his  basket,  with  much  laughing  and  joking, 
and  thereby  prove  his  innocence  of  having  plundered 
the  plantation.  As  a  peace  offering,  my  mother 
directed  me  to  give  them  some  twists  of  tobacco  and 
tins  of  salmon  and  biscuit.  Then  they  explained 
that,  owing  to  the  breadfruit  having  been  blown  off 
the  trees  while  still  green,  by  a  hurricane,  there  had 
been  a  famine  in  their  village.  Their  Samoan  pride 
made  them  ashamed  for  the  other  villages  to  know 
that  they  were  reduced  to  eating  wild  roots,  and  so 
they  had  sneaked  up  in  the  night  to  the  bush  back 
of  our  plantation  and  filled  their  baskets  with  the 
roots.  We  apologized  again  and  went  back  to  bed. 
The  twenty  Samoans  sat  on  our  veranda  for  hours 
singing,  but,  although  our  servants  were  gone  for  the 
night  and  we  two  white  women  were  entirely  alone 
in  the  house,  we  felt  no  fear.  Where  else  in  the 
world  could  this  have  happened?'* 


THE   LONELY  DAYS  OF  WIDOWHOOD    233 

Secluded  as  Vailima  was,  the  family  could  not  even 
here  escape  the  curiosity  of  tourists,  for  on  "steamer 
days"  there  was  always  a  procession  of  them  going 
up  the  Iiill  from  Apia  to  see  the  home  of  Stevenson. 
One  day  its  mistress  was  directing  some  workmen  on 
the  roof  of  the  carriage  house  when  a  party  of  tourists 
came  up  and  asked  if  that  was  Vailima  and  where 
was  Mrs.  Stevenson.  She  replied,  "No  spik  English," 
and  they  went  on  to  the  house,  sat  on  the  veranda 
and  had  tea,  never  dreaming  that  the  odd  little  per- 
son in  the  blue  gown,  directing  the  roofing  of  the 
carriage  house,  was  Mrs.  Stevenson  herself. 

The  variety  of  her  experiences  and  the  wide  scope 
of  her  abilities  may  be  shown  better  than  in  any 
other  way,  perhaps,  by  quotations  from  a  small  note- 
book which  she  had  carried  v^^th  her  from  one  end  of 
the  world  to  the  other.  These  entries  show  that  she 
did  not  simply  "do  the  best  she  could,"  but  that  she 
made  a  conscientious  study  of  how  to  take  care  of  her 
invalid  husband,  what  to  do  in  emergencies,  how  to 
feed  him  when  they  were  on  ships  or  desert  islands, 
etc.  In  every  place  that  they  went  to  she  kept  her 
eyes  open  and  learned  new  receipts  for  cooking,  sick- 
ness, and  all  the  other  requirements  of  life.  The 
entries  were  jotted  down  so  hastily  and  often  under 
such  peculiar  circumstances  that  in  many  cases  they 
are  written  upside  down,  so  that  you  have  to  keep 
turning  the  book  about  to  follow  it.  I  quote  here  a 
few  of  the  most  characteristic  entries: 

The  telephone  number  of  a  chronometer  maker 
(Butler,  Clay  416). 

Mr.  Antone  knows  all  about  Samoan  vegetation. 


234     LIFE  OF  MRS.  R.  L.  STEVENSON 

Our  marriage  day  was  the  19th  of  May.  [Neither 
she  nor  Mr.  Stevenson  could  ever  remember  the  date 
of  any  event,  not  even  that  of  their  maiTiage,  so  she 
evidently  made  sure  of  it  by  putting  it  in  the  note- 
book.] 

Name  of  my  adopted  father  [in  the  South  Seas]  is 
Paaena.     Name  of  Pa's  village  is  Atuona. 

Addresses  of  friends  in  San  Francisco,  London, 
Scotland,  Nebraska,  Philadelphia,  France,  Italy,  New 
York,  Hawaii. 

Receipt  for  Spanish  fish. 

Lotion  for  the  hands. 

Then  follow  a  number  of  prescriptions  stamped  and 
evidently  written  out  by  the  chemist.  They  are  for 
a  "tickling  cough,"  "night  sweats,"  "for  light  blood 
spitting,"  "for  violent  hemorrhages,"  "how  to  inject 
ergotine  tonic  for  weakness  after  spitting  blood,"  and 
"hypodermic  injections  for  violent  hemorrhages." 
Among  other  doctors'  prescriptions  pasted  in  the 
book  there  is  one  for  cankered  ear  in  dogs.  It  was 
this  prescription  that  she  used  on  a  young  English 
officer  of  the  Curagoa  who  was  visiting  Vailima,  and 
who  was  suffering  terribly  from  some  ear  trouble. 
Mrs.  Stevenson  said  to  him,  "I  can  cure  you  if  you 
will  let  me  treat  you  with  my  dog  medicine."  He 
agreed,  and,  as  a  result,  was  well  enough  to  attend  a 
theatre  that  night,  and  before  long  was  entirely  recov- 
ered. 

One  interesting  prescription,  written  and  signed  in 
a  hand  that  looks  very  French,  has  the  heading  in 
Mrs.  Stevenson's  hand,  "Elixir  of  Life." 

How  to  make  roof  paint. 


THE  LONELY  DAYS  OF  WIDOWHOOD    235 

How  to  make  house  paint. 

Dr.  Funk's  cure  for  elephantiasis.  [She  cured  sev- 
eral of  her  Samoan  servants  of  this  dread  disease  with 
this  simple  remedy.] 

Dr.  Russel's  cure  for  anemia. 

Receipts  for  ginger  beer,  lemon  pudding,  icing,  and 
candy,  oranges  in  syrup,  macaroni  and  corn,  savory, 
pineapple  cake,  taro  and  fish  rolled  into  balls  and 
fried,  Abdul  Rassak's  mutton  curry,  home  mincemeat, 
rice  yeast  and  bannocks  for  cooking  aboard  ship,  Bu- 
taritari  potato  cake  and  pudding.  Ah  Fu's  pig's  head. 
Ah  Fu's  yeast,  pork  cake,  fritters,  muUed  wine,  and 
green  corn  cakes. 

A  memorandum  of  a  lock  to  be  turned  by  figures. 

Medicine  for  tona — boils  with  which  Samoan  chil- 
dren are  often  afflicted. 

More  cooking  receipts — Magzar  fowl,  Tautira  duflF, 
raw-fish  salad  from  a  Tahiti  receipt,  strawberry  short- 
cake, spontaneous  yeast,  banana  popoi,  Pennsylvania 
scrapple,  miti  sauce  to  eat  with  pig  roasted  under- 
ground, baked  breadfruit,  breadfruit  puddmg,  onion 
soup,  bisque  of  lobster,  bouillabaise,  banana  beer, 
Russian  risotto,  Scotch  woodcock,  Russian  pancake, 
Spanish  tortillas,  and  blackberry  cordial. 

Bamboo  fence. 

To  graft  mangoes.  ' 

Fill  wet  boots  with  oats. 

How  to  mend  a  hole  in  a  boat  (Captain  Otis). 

Abdul  Rassak's  receipt  for  taking  the  poison  out 
of  cucumbers. 

Creosote  in  a  cupboard  to  keep  out  flies  and  pre- 
serve meat. 


236     LIFE  OF  MRS.  R.  L.  STEVENSON 

Furniture  polisli. 

To  make  a  Hawaiian  oven. 

To  make  Tahitian  flowers  and  ornaments. 

To  clean  Benares  ware. 

To  destroy  red  ants. 

To  preserve  meats. 

How  to  keep  butter  cool  in  hot  weather. 

To  knit  a  baby's  hood. 

Crochet  cover  for  a  pincushion  [with  a  little  picture 
showing  it  when  finished]. 

Surely,  it  would  not  be  easy  to  duplicate  this  cos- 
mopolitan list  in  any  other  woman's  notebook. 

Among  the  villages  of  the  island  there  was  one, 
Vaiee,  with  which  the  Stevensons  had  a  special  friend- 
ship, dating  back  to  the  first  year  of  their  arrival  in 
Samoa.  At  that  time  the  villagers  were  building  a 
church  and  had  saved  up  sixty  dollars  with  which  to 
buy  corrugated  iron  for  the  roof.  One  day  a  deputa- 
tion of  elders,  headed  by  the  chief,  called  on  Mr.  Ste- 
venson to  ask  if  he  would  act  as  their  agent  in  bujang 
the  iron.  Of  course,  he  was  interested  at  once  and 
laid  out  the  money  to  such  good  advantage  that  they 
got  more  corrugated  iron  than  sixty  dollars  had  ever 
bought  before.  After  that  they  came  again  with 
small  sums,  which  were  kept  for  them  in  the  Vailima 
safe,  and  whenever  they  wanted  to  buy  anjlhing  for 
the  village  he  helped  them  to  get  good  value  for  their 
money.  Their  gratitude  sometimes  took  embarrass- 
ing forms,  as  on  one  occasion  when  they  brought  a 
present  of  a  large  white  bull  with  a  wreath  around  its 
neck.  At  other  times,  they  brought  offerings  of  tur- 
tles, rolls  of  tapa,  fish,  and  pigs;  and  on  the  night  of 
Mr.  Stevenson's  death  several  of  the  chiefs  crossed 


THE  LONELY  DAYS  OF  WIDOWHOOD    237 

the  island  on  foot  and  were  in  time  to  help  the  men 
who  were  cutting  the  road  to  Mount  Vaea. 

Remembering  all  this,  when  the  village  of  Vaiee 
invited  Mrs.  Stevenson  and  her  daughter  to  make 
them  a  visit  they  naturally  wanted  to  go.  This  sort 
of  visiting  trip — usually  lasting  three  days,  one  to 
arrive,  one  to  visit,  and  one  to  go — is  called  a  malaga 
(accented  on  second  syllable — malan^ga),  and  is  a  very 
popular  institution  among  the  natives.  The  visiting 
party  generally  travels  in  state,  taking  w^th  it  a  boat, 
food,  and  servants.  The  story  of  the  malaga  to  the 
village  of  Vaiee  follows  in  Mrs.  Strong's  own  words: 

"There  was  only  a  footpath  over  the  mountain, 
and  as  we  had  to  cross  many  torrents  on  no  better 
bridge  than  a  felled  cocoanut  tree,  we  could  not  even 
go  on  horseback.  My  mother  was  not  able  to  make 
the  trip  on  foot,  and  I  conceived  the  brilliant  idea  of 
slinging  a  chair  with  ropes  to  two  poles  and  having 
our  Samoan  men  carry  her  in  it.  So  all  was  arranged, 
and  we  made  an  early  morning  start.  I  walked  bare- 
foot and  my  mother  sat  in  her  'sedan  chair'  like  an 
island  princess,  with  her  little  bare  feet  swinging  with 
the  swaying  of  the  chair.  We  had  four  men  for 
relaj'^s  in  carrying  the  chair,  while  others  carried  our 
presents — tins  of  biscuits,  barrels  of  salt  beef,  rolls  of 
calico,  and  numerous  trinkets — besides  our  wardrobe, 
which  contained  a  'silika'  (silk)  dress  for  each  of  us 
in  which  to  do  honor  to  our  hosts. 

"As  we  swung  into  the  Ala  Loto  Alofa* — an  odd 
procession,  for  our  boys  had  decorated  us  with  wreaths 
and  garlands — we  passed  a  carriage-load  of  surprised 

*  This  was  the  "Road  of  the  LoNTiig  Hearts,"  built  by  the  Mataafa 
chiefs  in  return  for  Tusitala's  kindness  to  them  when  they  were  in  prison. 


238     LIFE  OF  IVIES.  R.   L.  STEVENSON 

'steamer-day'  tourists  who  had  come  up  the  moun- 
tainside to  look  at  Vailima.  As  our  little  party 
wound  into  the  forest  the  road  grew  gradually  steeper, 
and  we  walked  under  the  dense  shade  of  huge  trees, 
hung  with  lianas,  orchids,  and  other  parasitic  plants. 
The  jimgle  was  so  thick  that  now  and  then  the  men 
had  to  cut  away  branches  with  their  cane  knives  to 
make  a  passage  for  us.  This  sounds  like  hard  work, 
but  the  wild  banana  plants,  giant  ferns,  lush  grass, 
and  fat  leaves  fell  before  one  slash  of  the  knife.  It 
was  damp  and  a  little  breathless  in  the  depths  of  the 
forest,  but  we  rested  often  on  the  way.  The  worst 
place  was  about  a  mile  of  swamp  land  that  was  full 
of  leeches.  They  fell  on  us  from  the  overhanging 
branches  of  the  trees,  and  as  our  feet  sank  into  the 
mud  they  stuck  to  our  ankles.  However,  the  men 
were  constantly  on  the  lookout  for  them,  and  when 
they  saw  one  would  sprinkle  salt  on  it  and  it  would 
immediately  fall  off.  We  had  invited  an  English 
couple,  a  Captain  F.  and  his  wife,  who  were  staying 
at  the  hotel,  to  go  with  us.  The  lady  wore  shoes, 
and  as  her  feet  grew  more  and  more  soppy  from  walk- 
ing in  the  damp  grass  and  through  the  swamps  she 
suffered  a  good  deal.  I  was  much  better  off  walking 
barefoot. 

"By  nightfall  we  reached  the  summit  of  the  moun- 
tain, where  there  was  a  house,  and  there  we  had  an 
example  of  Samoan  hospitality.  The  house  was  not 
large  enough  to  hold  us  and  its  occupants,  too,  so 
they  had  built  a  big  oven,*  stuffed  it  with  food,  laid 

*  A  Samoan  oven  is  made  by  digging  a  hole,  lining  it  with  hot  stones, 
putting  on  top  of  them  pigs,  fish,  chickens,  taro,  yams,  etc.,  all  wrapped 
in  banana  leaves,  then  piling  hot  stones  on  them  and  covering  the  whole 
with  earth.     In  about  four  hours  everything  is  cooked. 


THE  LONELY  DAYS  OF  WIDOWHOOD    239 

out  fine  mats  for  our  beds,  and  then  quietly  decamped. 
We  never  even  saw  our  hosts  to  thank  them.  It  was 
a  glorious  night  on  the  summit,  for  the  full  moon 
made  the  scene  as  bright  as  daylight,  and  in  the  dis- 
tance we  could  see  the  ocean  all  around  us.  It  made 
us  feel  very  small  and  a  little  frightened  to  see  what 
a  tiny  island  it  was  we  had  been  living  on  with  such 
a  feelmg  of  security.  Before  us  a  beautiful  waterfall 
fell  away  into  the  thickets  of  greenery. 

"On  the  way  up  we  crossed  many  streams,  and  I 
held  my  breath  to  see  the  two  men  carrying  my 
mother's  chair  run  lightly  across  the  teetering  log 
bridges,  but  she  sat  there  smiling,  not  a  bit  afraid 
and  enjoying  every  minute  of  it.  Our  English  friends 
and  I  were  carried  over  by  the  natives.  I  simply 
shut  my  eyes,  clutched  the  thick  hair  of  my  carrier 
and  held  my  breath  till  we  were  on  the  other  side. 

"Makmg  ourselves  at  home  in  the  house  so  kindly 
left  to  our  use,  we  set  the  boys  to  open  the  oven  and 
remove  its  contents,  and  then  we  sat  down  and  made 
a  grand  feast — roast  pig,  chicken,  taro,  yams,  and 
breadfruit — all  fresh  and  hot.  Our  boys  had  brought 
salt,  limes,  and  bread,  and  on  the  way  up  we  gathered 
fresh  cocoanuts  to  drink  with  our  dinner.  Tlien  we 
lay  down  on  the  soft  mats  and  fell  sound  asleep  in 
our  borrowed  house  on  the  top  of  our  little  world. 

"In  the  morning,  we  began  the  descent  of  the  other 
side,  which  was  much  easier  and  quicker.  WTien  we 
were  within  a  mile  of  the  village  we  were  shown  a 
pool;  then  the  men  retired  and  we  women  took  a 
swim,  after  which  we  put  on  our  'silika'  dresses  and 
started  on.  Children  had  been  stationed  along  the 
path  to  look  out  for  us,  and,  though  we  could  see  no 


240     LIFE  OF  J^IRS.   R.   L.   STEVENSON 

one,  we  heard  shouts  of  '  Ua  maliu  mai  tamaitai '  (the 
ladies  are  coming),  going  from  one  to  another.  At 
the  entrance  to  the  village  my  mother  got  out  of  her 
chair  and  we  walked  on.  The  manaia,  or  beauty 
man  of  the  village,  accompanied  by  two  magnificent 
looking  aides,  came  forward  to  meet  us.  They  were 
oiled  and  polished  till  they  shone  like  bronze,  and  on 
tlieir  heads  they  wore  the  great  ceremonial  head- 
dresses. Their  only  garments  were  short  kilts  of 
iapa,  which  made  a  fine  display  of  their  lace-like  tat- 
tooing. On  their  right  arms  they  wore  twists  of  green 
with  boars'  tusks,  while  their  ankles  were  encircled 
with  green  wreaths  and  their  necks  with  the  whale- 
tooth  necklaces  that  denote  rank.  It  seemed  strange 
to  be  received  by  young  men,  for  in  all  our  other  trips 
either  Louis  or  Lloyd  was  the  guest  of  honor — mak- 
ing it  a  man's  party — and  to  them  the  village  maid, 
or  taupo,  with  her  girl  attendants,  acted  as  hostess. 
As  ours  was  a  woman's  party,  we  were  received  by 
young  men.  The  manaia  gave  his  hand  to  my 
motlier,  the  other  two  escorted  me  and  the  English 
lady,  and,  with  the  poor  husband  trailing  along  be- 
hind, we  walked  with  stately  pomp  across  the  malae* 
to  the  guest  house.  There  was  not  a  soul  in  sight, 
and,  though  the  children  must  have  been  bursting 
with  interest  and  curiosity,  not  one  was  to  be  seen. 
The  guest  house  stood  in  the  centre  of  the  little  vil- 
lage, which  lay  on  the  seashore,  overlooking  a  small 
bay.  Behind  it  the  forest  climbed  the  slopes  of  steep 
mountains,  down  which  several  streams  and  water- 

*  The  malae  is  the  green  lawn  around   which  all  Samoan  villages  are 
built. 


THE  LONELY  DAYS  OF  WIDOWHOOD    241 

falls  rushed  into  the  sea,  and  in  front  the  smooth 
wide  beach  stretched  its  white  length.  On  each  side 
were  the  plantations  of  bananas,  cocoanuts,  and 
other  tropic  fruits,  while  scattered  here  and  there 
among  the  brown  thatched  houses  the  breadfruit 
trees  spread  out  their  huge  branches  of  shining  green. 
*'The  guest  house  had  been  decorated  with  leaves, 
ferns,  and  flowers.  As  we  ducked  under  the  eaves, 
our  eyes  a  little  dazzled  by  the  brightness  of  the  sun- 
light, we  were  received  by  the  taupo  and  her  maidens, 
who  were  spreading  fine  mats  for  us  to  sit  on.  Oh 
the  sweet,  cool,  clean  freshness  of  a  native  house !  It 
would  not  be  fair  to  call  it  a  hut,  for  that  suggests 
squalor,  or  makeshift,  whereas  these  houses  are  works 
of  art.  The  roof  rises  inside  like  a  great  dome,  the 
inner  thatch  being  intricately  woven  in  patterns, 
while  the  floor  is  made  of  clean  pebbles,  neatly  laid 
and  covered  with  fine  mats.  In  the  centre  of  the 
house  the  main  pole  stands  like  a  tall  mast,  with 
several  cross-bars  where  the  furniture — rolls  of  mats 
and  tajpa^  hava  bowls  and  cups — is  kept.  There  is 
nothing  else  in  the  room,  except,  perhaps,  one  or  two 
camphor-wood  chests.  The  centre  pole  in  the  house 
at  Vaiee  was  wound  round  and  about  with  ropes  of 
frangipani  flowers,  while  bright  red  hibiscus  bells 
decorated  the  cross  bars,  and  ferns  in  long  wreaths 
were  looped  round  the  edge  of  the  room.  The  eaves 
come  down  pretty  low,  about  four  feet  from  the 
ground,  so  that  one  has  to  stoop  to  enter. 
"After  receiving  us  with  great  cordiality,  making  us 
comfortable  with  fans,  etc.,  the  girls  joined  us  as  we 
sat  stiffly  in  a  semi-circle,  waiting  for  the  chief — for 


242     LIFE  OF  IVIRS.   R.   L.   STEVENSON 

we  knew  our  Samoan  manners.  Presently  we  saw 
him  coming,  dressed  very  plainly  in  a  kilt  of  tapa  and 
carrying  the  high  chief  fly  flapper.*  He  was  accom- 
panied by  his  talking  man,  with  his  tall  staff  of  office, 
and  several  of  the  lesser  house  chiefs — all  looking 
very^  important  and  impressive.  After  shaking  hands 
with  us  (which  is  not  a  Samoan  custom  and  always 
spoils  the  dignity  of  a  fine  entrance),  they  sat  in  a 
semi-circle  facing  us.  Then  the  talking  man  drew  a 
long  breath  and  started  in.  Samoan  talking  men,  or 
tulafale,  are  noted  for  their  eloquence,  but  it  is  the 
wearisome  part  of  a  malaga  to  have  to  listen  to  hours 
of  high-flown  discourse.  At  last,  however,  with  a 
final  burst  of  oratory,  our  relief  came,  and  then  the 
taupo  made  and  served  the  kava.  In  later  years  the 
Samoans  learned  to  grate  the  root  for  brewing,  but 
on  that  occasion  it  was  prepared  in  the  good  old- 
fashioned  island  way.  The  taupo  and  her  girls  first 
washed  their  mouths  out  several  times  with  fresh 
water  and  then  chewed  the  roots — nibbled  them, 
rather,  very  daintily — until  there  was  enough  for  a 
brew.  This  was  put  in  the  middle  of  a  huge  wooden 
bowl  (shallow  and  with  eight  short  legs,  all  carved 
out  of  one  piece  of  wood),  and  water  was  poured  over 
it.  The  tcmpo,^  very  self-conscious,  sitting  cross- 
l^ged  before  the  bowl,  dressed  to  the  nines  in  flowers 
and  ferns,  with  a  piece  of  red  hibiscus  flower  stuck  on 
one  cheek  like  a  beauty  patch,  her  short  hair  oiled 
and  sprinkled  with  grated  sandalwood,  was  as  pretty 

*  The  fly  flapper  is  a  carved  stick  with  a  horse-hair  tassel  on  the  end. 
t  The  taujM  is  the  maid  of  the  village.     She  is  chosen  for  her  beauty 
and  is  the  official  hostess  to  receive  all  guests. 


THE   LONELY  DAYS  OF  WIDOWHOOD    243 

as  a  picture.  The  cup  was  presented  first  to  the 
chief,*  who  made  a  little  speech  of  welcome — 'May 
your  visit  be  a  happy  one' — then  drank  off  the  con- 
tents and  spun  the  cup  along  the  floor.  It  was  now 
presented  to  my  mother,  who  took  a  sip  only,  and 
afterwards  to  me.  I  poured  a  libation  and  said  in 
Samoan  'Blessed  be  our  high  chief  meeting.'  Then 
came  our  English  friends  and  Laulii,t  who  came  with 
us  to  officiate  as  'talking  man'  for  our  party.  She 
made  a  charming  little  speech  that  made  everybody 
laugh,  and  then,  the  ceremonies  being  over,  we  all 
gathered  together  for  a  real  talk.  We  brought  news 
from  Apia — we  asked  news  of  Vaiee.  When  I  got 
into  deep  water  with  my  Samoan,  Laulii  would  help 
me  out,  and  we  would  both  translate  what  was  said 
to  my  mother  and  the  others.  The  manaia  and  his 
young  men,  who  had  taken  a  back  seat  while  their 
elders  received  us,  came  over  to  join  in  the  talk  and 
tell  us  of  the  preparations  for  our  visit. 

"Immediately  after  the  ceremonies  of  our  recep- 
tion we  presented  our  gifts  to  the  chief.  Laulii  was 
the  spokesman  for  us,  and  the  village  talking  man 
stood  in  the  door  of  the  guest  house  and  announced 
in  a  loud  voice  the  list  of  our  presents,  while  from  the 
inside  of  the  surrounding  houses  came  the  sound  of 
clapping  hands.  This  ceremony  of  presenting  gifts 
was   done  humorously,   Laulii   making   many   jokes 

*  Nowadays  the  Samoans,  having  learned  European  ways,  present  the 
cup  first  to  the  ladies,  but  then  it  was  faoSamoa,  that  is,  in  Samoan 
fashion. 

t  Laulii,  the  Samoan  wife  of  Mr.  Willis,  was  a  close  friend  of  Mrs. 
Stevenson  while  she  lived  in  the  islands,  and  after  she  left  there  came  to 
California  to  make  her  a  visit  at  the  ranch  near  Gilroy. 


244     LIFE  OF  MRS.   R.   L.   STEVENSON 

and  local  hits  which  were  received  with  polite  laugh- 
ter. 

"We  were  three  days  in  Vaiee,  during  which  we 
were  entertained  by  dances  of  the  village  girls,  war 
and  knife  dances  by  the  manaia  and  his  young  men, 
and,  besides  being  furnished  with  good  food  all  the 
time,  we  were  honored  with  one  grand  feast,  which 
was  attended  by  the  whole  village.  On  the  morning 
of  the  second  day  we  were  sitting  in  the  guest  house, 
which,  bj'  the  simple  expedient  of  hanging  up  a  sheet 
of  tapa,  had  been  turned  into  two  bedrooms  for  the 
night,  when  some  native  girls  called  my  attention 
and  pointed  out  to  sea.  A  number  of  canoes  were 
to  be  seen  coming  round  the  point  at  the  mouth  of 
the  harbor,  and  as  they  came  nearer  we  could  hear 
the  oarsmen  singing  and  could  distinguish  our  names. 
They  were  bringing — so  they  sang — the  fish  to  Ta- 
maitai  Aolele — they  had  been  out  all  night  gathering 
turtles  for  Tamaitai  Teuila. 

"Later  in  the  day  there  was  a  grand  talolo,  or  cere- 
mony of  gift  giving.  My  mother,  as  guest  of  honor, 
sat  just  inside  the  guest  house,  on  a  pile  of  mats,  with 
the  rest  of  us  in  a  semi-circle  around  her,  all  facing 
the  sea.  There  was  a  hum  and  buzz  of  excitement 
in  the  village,  and  we  could  catch  glimpses  of  fine 
headdresses  and  old  women  scurrying  about  with 
mats  and  flowers.  Soon  the  procession  appeared, 
led  by  the  manaia  in  full  costume,  dancing  and  twirl- 
ing his  head  knife,  and  accompanied  by  several  young 
men.  After  them  came  others  bearing  gifts  hung 
from  poles,  Lauhi,  as  our  'talking  man,*  received 
them,  and  our  servants,  in  a  little  group,  made  up  a 


THE   LONELY  DAYS   OF   WIDOWHOOD     245 

fine  chorus.  The  manaia  and  his  young  men  came 
up,  danced  in  front  of  us,  and  then,  taking  the  poles 
from  their  attendants,  laid  three  large  turtles  before 
us,  calling  out  that  they  were  a  humble  offering  from 
the  men  of  Vaiee  to  the  great  and  glorious  and  beau- 
tiful lady  of  Vailima.  Laulii  received  them,  to  my 
surprise,  with  jeering  remarks  that  threw  everybody 
into  fits  of  laughter,  e\'idently  quite  the  correct  thing 
to  do.  The  next  people  brought  a  huge  fish,  nets  of 
crabs,  strings  of  brightly  coloured  fish,  and  sharks' 
fins. 

"Seeing  that  one  of  the  young  men  had  a  rag  tied 
round  his  thumb,  I  asked  him  if  he  had  hurt  his  hand. 
He  replied  that  when  he  dived  for  the  turtle  it  caught 
him  by  the  thumb,  and  if  his  friends  hadn't  gone  to 
his  aid  he  might  have  drowned.  He  told  it  as  though 
it  would  have  been  a  great  joke  on  him.  We  were 
all  pretty  well  acquainted  by  this  time,  and  every- 
body threw  in  remarks.  Then  our  boys  removed 
the  presents,  chose  what  we  would  take  with  us — 
only  a  small  portion — and  the  rest  was  returned  to 
the  village  for  the  feast.  On  state  occasions  the  men 
are  the  cooks,  and  there  is  one  dish  that  is  only  to 
be  prepared  by  the  manaia — who  has  to  array  him- 
self in  full  war  paint  to  serve  it — and  a  grand  dish  it 
is,  composed  of  breadfruit  dumplings  stewed  in  cocoa- 
nut  cream  in  a  wooden  bowl  by  means  of  hot  stones 
dropped  in.  The  dumplings  are  served  in  a  twist  of 
banana  leaf,  and  each  has  a  stick  thrust  in  it  to  eat 
it  by.  The  grand  feast  was  held  about  four  o'clock, 
in  a  long  arbor  built  for  the  occasion  of  upright  sticks 
covered    with    cocoanut-palm    leaves.     Fresh    green 


246     LIFE  OF  MRS.  R.   L.   STEVENSON 

banana  leaves  served  as  a  tablecloth,  and  on  it  was 
spread  every  dainty  known  to  Samoa — pigs  baked 
underground,  turtle,  whole  fish,  chickens,  taro,  yams, 
roasted  green  bananas,  broiled  fresh-water  prawns, 
crabs,  a  fat  worm  that  we  pretended  to  eat  but  didn't, 
heart  of  cocoanut-tree  salad  with  dressing  made  of 
cream  from  the  nuts,  limes  and  sea-water,  and 
all  kinds  of  fruit.  We  were  all  so  hungry  that,  if 
it  hadn't  been  for  Laulii's  warning,  we  might  have 
fallen  to  before  the  chief  said  grace,  which  would 
have  been  a  shocking  breach  of  good  manners.  The 
first  ceremonious  stiffness  having  worn  off  by  this 
time,  the  meal  was  enlivened  by  much  friendly  gaiety. 

"That  evening  was  given  over  to  the  dances,  which 
lasted  till  nearly  midnight.  The  manaia  and  the 
tawpo  had  each  written  songs  and  composed  music 
for  the  dances  in  our  honor,  and  copies  of  them, 
written  out  neatly  by  the  schoolmaster,  were  pre- 
sented to  us.  Our  friend,  the  English  captain,  made 
a  great  hit  with  the  young  men  by  exhibiting  feats  of 
strength,  which  they  all  copied,  being  highly  delighted 
when  they  beat  the  Englishman,  but  cheering  gener- 
ously when  he  beat  them.  Then  we  played  casino, 
with  sticks  of  tobacco  on  our  side  and  head  knives, 
fans,  etc.,  on  theirs,  for  stakes.  I  perceived  that  the 
manaia  purposely  played  badly  in  order  to  let  me 
win  his  head  knife,  on  which  he  had  carved  my  name. 

"We  had  intended  returning  over  the  mountain 
as  we  came,  but  the  chief  suggested  that  we  go  back 
by  sailboat,  as  they  had  a  very  good  one,  and  we 
could  stop  at  some  village  every  night  on  the  way 
home.     When  we  saw  the  boat  we  found  it  to  be  a 


THE  LONELY  DAYS  OF  WIDOWHOOD    247 

primitive  affair,  with  a  bent  tree  for  a  mast  and  the 
sails  tied  with  rotten  ropes,  but,  knowing  the  natives 
to  be  the  best  boatmen  in  the  world,  we  decided  to 
take  our  chances  and  rely  on  their  skill  to  pilot  us 
safely  home.  We  sent  a  number  of  our  men  back 
over  the  mountain  to  carry  our  share  of  the  presents, 
but,  as  we  were  going  to  stop  at  villages  on  the  way 
we  took  with  us  our  part  of  the  feast — several  turtles, 
and,  in  lieu  of  calico  or  European  things,  which  were 
not  to  be  had  at  this  retired  place,  some  tapa — for 
gifts.  Before  we  left  I  made  a  parcel  of  sandwiches 
— of  tinned  tongue  and  stale  bread — in  case  we  got 
hungry,  for  it  is  often  a  *long  time  between  feasts.' 

"Everybody  wanted  to  go  with  us,  and,  though 
the  chief  did  his  best  to  hold  them  back,  the  little 
boat  was  so  crowded  that  we  were  nearly  level  with 
the  water.  As  we  went  aroimd  by  the  windward  side 
of  the  island,  it  was  a  rough  trip. 

"I  noticed  that  the  boatmen  were  narrowly  watch- 
ing my  mother  as  she  paddled  in  the  water  with  her 
hand  over  the  side  of  the  boat,  but  did  not  understand 
the  reason  until  afterwards,  when  we  found  out  that, 
a  little  while  before,  a  man  had  had  his  hand  bitten 
off  by  a  shark,  and  another  who  was  sitting  on  the 
edge  of  a  canoe  had  had  a  large  piece  of  his  thigh 
bitten  out.  The  natives,  being  too  polite  to  tell  her 
to  stop  dabbling  in  the  water,  preferred  to  keep  close 
watch  themselves  and  be  ready  to  strike  with  their 
oars  if  a  shark  should  rise. 

"At  the  first  village  where  we  stopped  for  the 
m'ght  we  had  a  ticklish  job  getting  through  the  reef, 
for  there  was  but  one  small  opening,  and  if  we  missed 


248     LIFE  OF  MRS.  R.  L.  STEVENSON 

it  we  would  be  smashed  to  pieces.  The  wind  was 
blowing  towards  the  shore,  and  the  great  breakers 
crashing  against  the  reef  sent  white  spray  high  into 
the  air.  The  boatmen  were  all  pulling  ropes  and 
shouting  orders  at  once.  It  seemed  as  though  we 
were  driving  straight  into  the  reef,  and  I  looked  on 
terror-stricken,  but  my  mother  chose  that  moment 
to  say  cheerfully,  '  I  tliink  I'll  have  a  sandwich ! ' 

"The  last  day  of  our  trip  we  ran  inside  the  reef, 
where  it  was  smooth  saihng.  Surely  there  is  no  mode 
of  travelling  on  earth  so  enchanting  as  this;  we  went 
ghding  over  the  blue  water,  with  a  sea -garden  of  coral, 
marine  mosses,  and  brilliantly  coloured  fish  below  us, 
the  white  sails  bellying  before  the  breeze,  the  natives 
singing,  the  shore  with  its  palms  and  little  villages 
half  hidden  in  green  foliage  slipping  by,  the  moun- 
tains standing  high  against  the  sky,  while  on  the 
other  side  of  the  barrier  reef  the  surf  pounded  in 
impotent  fury,  throwing  up  a  hedge  of  white,  foaming 
spray.     We  seemed  to  be  part  of  a  living  poem. 

"When  at  length  our  delightful  expedition  came  to 
an  end  and  we  landed  at  Apia,  we  found  ourselves 
confronted  by  a  rather  ridiculous  dilemma.  My 
mother  had  not  worn  any  shoes  going  over  to  Vaiee, 
which  was  quite  in  keeping  with  native  customs  and 
more  comfortable  for  walking  on  the  soft  moss  and 
lush  grass  in  the  damp,  dripping  woods,  but  it  was 
another  thing  to  land  in  Apia  at  the  hotel  barefoot. 
She  slipped  in  as  unobtrusively  as  possible  and  no 
one  saw  her.  We  had  supper  in  our  rooms — or, 
rather,  on  the  veranda  connected  with  them.  The 
next  morning  I  ran  out  to  buy  her  some  shoes — any 


THE   LONELY  DAYS  OF  WIDOWHOOD    249 

kind — but  tliere  were  none  small  enough.  At  last 
our  little  carriage  was  sent  down  from  Vailima  and 
came  around  to  the  side  entrance.  My  mother  got 
in  without  being  seen  and  took  the  reins,  but  the 
horse,  having  been  overfed  with  oats  by  Eliga  in  his 
desire  to  treat  it  kindly,  began  to  leap  and  plunge, 
and  dashed  around  to  the  front,  where  a  number  of 
the  hotel  guests  were  gathered.  I  heard  them  say, 
*That  is  Mrs.  Stevenson,'  and  all  ran  to  look.  As  the 
horse  continued  to  plunge  about  they  all  called  out 
*Jump,  Mrs.  Stevenson!'  but  she  held  on.  I  knew 
why  she  didn't  jump — it  was  because  of  her  bare 
feet.  She  was  otherwise  very  neatly  dressed  in  black, 
with  hat  and  veil  and  gloves.  Finally  one  man, 
bolder  than  the  rest,  reached  in  and  lifted  her  out, 
and  her  little  bare  feet  were  seen  waving  in  the  air ! " 
One  day,  not  long  after  this — July  17,  1896,  to  be 
exact — Mrs.  Stevenson  and  her  daughter  were  driv- 
mg  along  the  beach  at  Apia,  when  they  were  sur- 
prised to  see  a  strange  craft  in  the  bay— a  curious 
little  sloop  that  they  knew  had  not  been  seen  nor 
heard  of  before  in  those  waters.  On  inquiry  they 
found  it  was  the  famous  Spray,  in  which  Captain 
Joshua  Slocum,  of  Boston,  sailed  alone  around  the 
world.  They  called  on  the  adventurous  skipper  at 
once  and  invited  him  to  visit  Vailima,  which  he  did 
on  the  following  day.  Mrs.  Stevenson  was  delighted 
with  the  unconventional  ways  and  conversation  of 
the  captain,  and,  indeed,  found  in  him  much  that 
was  kindred  to  her  own  spirit.  WTien  he  wished  to 
buy  some  giant  bamboo  from  her  plantation  for  a 
mast  for  his  little  vessel,  she,  of  course,  made  him  a 


250     LIFE  OF  MRS.  R.  L.   STEVENSON 

present  of  it,  and  had  it  cut  and  taken  down  by  the 
natives.  He  told  her  of  his  visit  to  tlie  missionary 
bark,  the  Star  of  Hope,  which  was  then  in  port  at 
Apia.  He  was  shown  into  their  chart  room  and 
looked  at  their  instruments,  upon  which  he  remarked, 
"I  am  a  better  Christian  than  you  are,  for  you  have 
two  chronometers  and  a  sextant,  while  I  have  only 
my  belief  in  God  and  an  old  clock."  When  asked 
why  he  didn't  take  a  sheep  or  some  chickens  along 
with  him  to  eat  as  a  reUef  from  his  constant  diet  of 
canned  goods,  he  said,  "You  can't  kill  a  fellow-passen- 
ger. Out  in  the  great  stillness  you  get  fond  even  of 
a  chicken,  and  as  for  pigs,  they  are  the  most  lovable 
and  intelligent  of  animals." 

Joshua  Slocum  was  a  magnificent  specimen  of 
strength  and  health,  and  his  manly  figure  was  well 
set  off  by  the  clothing — or,  rather,  the  lack  of  it — 
used  in  the  tropics.  When  Mrs.  Stevenson  met  him 
afterwards  in  New  York  she  was  much  struck  by  the 
change  caused  in  his  appearance  by  the  wearing  of  a 
conventional  black  suit,  and  regretted  that  he  had 
to  hide  his  real  beauty — his  lithe,  strong  figure — in 
ugly  broadcloth.  She  had  a  great  and  sincere  admira- 
tion for  him,  as  she  always  had  for  physical  courage 
in  any  form.  In  her  preface  to  The  Wrong  Box  she 
says,  "Some  time  after  Louis's  death  Captain  Joshua 
Slocum,  on  his  way  round  the  world  alone  in  the 
little  sloop  Spray,  came  to  the  house  at  Vailima. 
Here,  I  thought,  was  a  mariner  after  my  husband's 
own  heart.  Who  had  a  better  right  to  the  directories 
[studied  by  Stevenson  at  Saranac  when  planning  for 
the  South  Sea  cruisel  than  this  man  who  was  about 


THE   LONELY  DAYS  OF  WIDOWHOOD    251 

to  sail  those  very  seas  with  no  other  guide  than  the 
stars  and  a  small  broken  clock  that  served  in  place 
of  a  chronometer  ?  Captain  Slocum  received  the  vol- 
umes with  reverence,  and  used  them,  as  he  afterwards 
told  me,  to  his  great  advantage." 

From  his  own  book,  Sailing  Alone  Around  the  World, 
I  have  taken  the  following  account  of  his  meeting 
with  Mrs.  Stevenson: 

"The  next  morning  after  my  arrival,  bright  and 
early,  Mrs.  Robert  Louis  Stevenson  came  to  the 
Spray  and  invited  me  to  visit  Vailima  the  following 
day.  I  was  of  course  tlirilled  when  I  found  myself, 
after  so  many  days  of  adventure,  face  to  face  with 
this  bright  woman,  so  lately  the  companion  of  the 
author  whose  books  had  delighted  me  on  the  voyage. 
The  kindly  eyes,  that  looked  me  through  and  through, 
sparkled  when  we  compared  notes  of  adventure.  I 
marvelled  at  some  of  her  experiences  and  escapes. 
She  told  me  that  along  with  her  husband  she  had 
voyaged  in  all  manner  of  rickety  craft  among  the 
islands  of  the  Pacific,  reflectively  adding,  'Our  tastes 
were  similar.'  Following  the  subject  of  voyages  she 
gave  me  the  fom*  beautiful  volumes  of  saihng  direc- 
tories for  the  Mediterranean,  writing  on  the  fly-leaf 
of  the  first,  *To  Captain  Slocum.  These  volumes 
have  been  read  and  re-read  many  times  by  my  hus- 
band, and  I  am  very  sure  that  he  would  be  pleased 
that  they  should  be  passed  on  to  the  sort  of  sea-faring 
man  that  he  liked  above  all  others.  Fanny  V.  de  G. 
Stevenson.'  Mjs.  Stevenson  also  gave  me  a  great 
directory  of  the  Indian  Ocean,  It  was  not  without 
a  feehng  of  reverential  awe  that  I  received  the  books 


252     LIFE  OF  MRS.  R.  L.   STEVENSON 

so  nearly  directly  from  the  hand  of  Tusitala,  'who 
sleeps  in  the  forest.'  Aolele,  the  Spray  will  cherish 
your  gift ! 

"On  another  day  the  family  from  Vailima  went  to 
visit  the  Spray.  The  sloop  being  in  the  stream,  we 
boarded  her  from  the  beach  abreast,  in  the  little 
razeed  Gloucester  dory,  which  had  been  pauated  a 
smart  green.  Our  combined  weight  loaded  it  gun- 
wale to  the  water,  and  I  was  obliged  to  steer  with 
great  care  to  avoid  swamping.  The  adventure 
pleased  Mrs.  Stevenson  greatly,  and  as  we  paddled 
along  she  sang  'They  went  to  sea  in  a  pea-green 
boat.'  I  could  understand  her  saying  of  her  husband 
and  herself  'Our  tastes  were  similar.' 

"Calling  to  say  good-bye  to  my  friends  at  Vailima, 
I  met  Mrs.  Stevenson,  in  her  Panama  hat,  and  went 
over  the  estate  with  her.  Men  were  at  work  clearing 
the  land,  and  to  one  of  them  she  gave  an  order  to 
cut  a  couple  of  bamboo  trees  for  the  Spray  from  a 
clump  she  had  planted  four  years  before,  and  which 
had  grown  to  a  height  of  sixty  feet.  I  used  them  for 
spare  spars,  and  the  butt  of  one  served  on  the  home- 
ward voyage  for  a  jib-boom. 

"After  a  farewell  ava  ceremony  in  Samoan  fashion 
at  Vailima,  the  Spray  stood  out  of  the  harbor  August 
20,  1896,  and  continued  on  her  course.  A  sense  of 
loneliness  seized  upon  me  as  the  islands  faded  astern, 
and  as  a  remedy  for  it  I  crowded  on  sail  for  lovely 
Australia,  which  was  not  a  strange  land  to  me;  but  for 
long  days  in  my  dreams  Vailima  stood  before  the 
prow." 

It  is  sad  to  know  that  this  brave  sailor  tempted 


THE  LONELY  DAYS  OF  WIDOWHOOD    253 

fate  once  too  often,  for  he  sailed  out  of  New  York 
harbor  some  years  ago  and  was  never  heard  of  again. 

Even  though  their  beloved  Tusitala  was  with  them 
no  more,  the  Samoans  did  not  forget  his  widow,  and 
they  often  went  to  Vailima  in  bodies  to  do  her  honour. 
In  a  letter  to  her  mother-in-law  she  describes  one  of 
these  visiting  parties: 

"A  couple  of  months  ago  the  Tongan  village  sent 
to  ask  if  they  might  come  and  dance  for  us  on  Christ- 
mas. They  were  the  men  that  considered  they  be- 
longed particularly  to  Louis;  do  you  remember  my 
teUing  you  how  their  village  was  put  into  mourning 
at  the  time  of  his  death — in  Tongan  fashion — ^for 
three  days.?  And  then  how  they  marched  up  here, 
every  man  in  a  new  black  lavalava,  some  forty  strong, 
to  decorate  the  grave  .'^  I  did  not  feel  much  like 
gaieties,  but  could  not  refuse  the  Tongans.  I  asked 
Chief  Justice  Ide,  his  daughter,  and  a  travelling 
salesman  named  Campbell  to  see  the  dancing.  Six 
or  eight  pretty  girls  were  turned  up  by  our  'poor  old 
family'  to  make  the  kava,  and,  though  our  own  boys 
had  been  given  a  holiday,  we  had  attendants  in 
scores.  I  had  had  a  turkey  roasted  and  corned  beef 
boiled,  so  that  with  such  things  laid  out  on  the  side- 
board I  could  give  my  guests  a  sort  of  picnic  meal 
instead  of  diimer.  The  Tongans  marched  up — about 
fifty  of  them — led  by  their  taupo  dressed  in  a  fine  mat 
and  dancing  as  she  came.  She  was  followed  by  the 
girls  of  the  village  carrying  the  usual  presents  on 
poles,  and  then  came  the  fighting  men  with  blackened 
faces  and  wearing  the  dress  used  in  the  war  dances. 
They  were  all  tall  powerfid  young  men,  and  looked 


254     LIFE  OF  MRS.   R.   L.   STEVENSON 

very  fierce  and  magnificent.  They  manoeuvred  while 
on  the  lawn  and  then  we  had  the  usual  business  of 
kava  and  orations.  The  dancing,  for  which  they 
used  an  ancient  war  drum,  took  place  in  the  hall, 
where  the  Chief  Justice  and  I  sat,  as  you  might  say, 
on  thrones  in  front  of  the  table,  with  the  other  spec- 
tators sitting  on  the  floor  around  us.  The  dancing 
was  wild  and  really  splendid.  When  they  left,  just 
as  dusk  was  falling,  we  presented  them  with  a  full- 
grown  pig  and  two  boxes  of  biscuit.  Our  boys  thought 
Louis's  grandfather*  should  be  shown  some  honor  for 
the  occasion,  so  they  decorated  his  bust  with  a  wreath 
cocked  over  one  eye  and  a  big  red  flower  over  one  ear. 
I  never  saw  anything  more  incongruous;  it  was  enough 
to  make  him  turn  over  in  his  grave." 

Mrs.  Stevenson's  health  improved  after  her  return 
to  Samoa,  and  she  and  her  daughter  spent  quiet, 
pleasant  months  together  working  in  the  garden, 
walking  in  the  forest,  playing  chess,  reading,  and 
sewing,  and  were  both  looking  forward  to  the  return 
of  Mr.  Osbourne  when  the  news  arrived  of  the  sudden 
death  in  Edinburgh  of  Mrs.  Thomas  Stevenson.  It 
was  a  sad  shock  to  her  daughter-in-law,  who  had 
grown  to  love  Louis's  mother  dearly,  and  all  the  more 
distressing  as  she  was  summoned  to  go  at  once  to 
Scotland  to  help  settle  the  estate.  It  now  became 
dear  that  the  island  home,  made  dear  by  a  thousand 
tender  associations,  would  have  to  be  abandoned. 
Had  Mrs.  Stevenson  been  able  to  follow  out  her  own 
desires  at  that  time,  she  would  have  preferred  to 
spend  the  remainder  of  her  days  there,  but  her  son 

*  Robert  Stevenson,  lighthouse  engineer. 


THE   LONELY  DAYS  OF  WIDOWHOOD    255 

and  daughter  were  drawn  away  perforce  by  the 
claims  of  their  own  families — the  education  of  their 
children,  etc. — and  it  was  impossible  for  her  to  live 
there  alone.  So,  witli  a  tearing  of  heartstrings  more 
easily  imagined  than  described,  she  began  to  make 
preparations  to  leave  the  place  for  ever. 

The  first  thing  was  to  choose  from  their  belongings 
suitable  gifts  for  the  dear  friends  that  were  to  be  left 
behind.  Two  young  chiefs,  one  their  host  at  the 
malaga  to  Vaiee,  were  taken  to  the  tool  room  and 
told  to  choose  what  they  wanted.  One  took  an  im- 
mense steel  gouge  which  he  said  would  be  grand  for 
making  canoes.  Another  young  chief  fell  heir  to  the 
tennis  outfit  (he  had  learned  the  game  from  Lloyd 
Osbourne),  and  went  proudly  off  to  set  it  up  in  his 
village.  To  old  Seumanutafa,  high  chief  of  Apia, 
Mrs.  Stevenson  gave  a  four-poster  bedstead,  with 
mattress  and  pillows  complete,  in  which  one  may 
imagine  that  he  slept  more  imposingly  but  less  rest- 
fully  than  on  his  own  native  mats.  This  chief  was 
the  man  who  saved  so  many  lives  at  the  time  of  the 
great  hurricane,  when  the  men-of-war  were  lost, 
that  the  United  States  Government  sent  him,  in 
appreciation,  a  fine  whale  boat  and  a  gold  watch  with 
an  inscription  in  the  case.  As  he  had  no  pockets  in 
his  native  costume,  he  wore  a  leather  belt  with  a 
pouch  in  it  for  the  watch,  usually  wearing  it  next  to 
his  bare  brown  body. 

To  the  friend  and  neighbour,  INIr.  Caruthers,  were 
given  some  framed  oil-paintings,  and  he  returned  the 
comphment  by  offering  to  take  Jack,  ^Irs.  Stevenson's 
pony,  and  give  him  the  best  of  care  as  long  as  he 


^56     LIFE  OF  MRS.  R.  L.  STEVENSON 

lived,  promising  that  no  one  should  ever  ride  him. 
To  a  Danish  baker  named  Hellesoe,  who  had  always 
sent  up  a  huge  cake  with  his  compliments  on  IVir. 
Stevenson's  birthday,  was  given  a  wonderful  arm- 
chair made  entirely  of  beadwork  put  on  by  hand  and 
trimmed  with  fringe  and  coloured  flowers.  Having 
seen  the  little  sitting-room  over  the  bakeshop,  they 
were  sure  the  chair  would  fit  in  beautifully  there. 

It  was  a  busy  time  when  they  packed  up  to  leave 
Samoa.  They  had  no  real  help,  for  none  of  the 
Samoans  knew  how  to  pack,  though  they  helped  in 
making  boxes  and  lifting  and  carrying.  The  two 
women  sorted,  wrapped,  and  packed  all  the  books  of 
the  large  library,  besides  the  Chippendale  furniture 
that  came  from  Scotland,  and  some  antiques,  includ- 
ing old  carved  cabinets  dating  back  to  1642.  After 
everytliing  of  value  had  been  packed,  tliere  were  still 
many  odds  and  ends — glassware  and  such  articles — 
which  were  left  behind  with  the  intention  of  sending 
for  them  later.  Eventually  the  plan  was  changed 
and  the  things  were  given  to  Mr.  Gurr,  with  whom 
the  key  of  the  house  had  been  left.  This  explains 
why  so  many  glass  bowls,  etc.,  were  bought  by  tour- 
ists at  Apia,  and  how  every  odd  pen  that  was  found 
was  sold  as  Mr.  Stevenson's  own  and  original.  It 
was  then  that  Mrs.  Stevenson's  diary,  to  which  I  have 
already  alluded,  was  overlooked  in  the  packing,  only 
to  turn  up  years  afterwards  in  London. 

It  was  a  genuine  grief  to  Mrs.  Stevenson  to  sell 
Vailima,  but,  in  order  to  retain  it  she  would  have 
had  to  keep  a  force  of  men  there  constantly  at  work 


THE  LONELY  DAYS  OF  WIDOWHOOD    257 

"fighting  the  forest,"  which,  if  left  alone  for  a  short 
time,  speedily  envelops  and  smothers  everything  in 
its  path.  If  even  so  much  as  an  old  tin  can  is  thrown 
out  on  the  ground  tropic  nature  at  once  proceeds  to 
get  rid  of  the  defacement,  and  in  a  few  days  it  will 
be  covered  with  creepers.  So,  with  many  a  pang  of 
r^ret,  the  place  was  finally  sold — with  the  reserva- 
tion of  the  summit  of  Vaea  where  the  tomb  stands — 
to  a  Russian  merchant  named  Kunst.  He  lived  tliere 
for  some  time  and  at  his  death  his  heirs  sold  it  to  the 
German  Government,  which  purchased  it  as  a  resi- 
dence for  the  German  governor  of  Samoa.  So  the 
flag  of  Germany  flew  over  Vailima  until  the  New 
Zealand  expeditionary  force  landed  and  took  over  the 
islands  for  Great  Britain,  when  the  Union  Jack  was 
run  up.  The  natives  said  that  England  came  to 
Tusitala,  since  he  could  not  go  to  her,  and  when  his 
own  country's  flag  blew  out  in  the  breeze  over  his  old 
home  one  could  almost  fancy  that  his  spirit  looked 
down  and  rejoiced.  Since  then  it  has  been  used  as 
the  British  Government  House,  and  at  present  the 
English  administrator  lives  there  with  his  wife  and 
aides.  Many  changes  and  enlargements  have  been 
made  in  it  since  it  was  the  home  of  Tusitala.  The 
Germans  cut  a  new  road  to  Vailima  from  the  high- 
way, and  the  Road  of  the  Loving  Hearts,  which  origi- 
nally led  to  the  house,  now  leads  to  the  burial  place 
of  the  man  for  whom  the  grateful  chiefs  built  it  long 
ago. 

All  was  now  ready  for  their  departure,  and  their 
native  friends  gathered  from  far  and  wide  to  take 


258     LIFE  OF  MRS.   R.   L.   STE\TENSON 

part  in  what  was  for  them  an  event  of  mournful  sig- 
nificance. Tusitala's  widow  was  not  permitted  to  go 
out  to  the  w^aiting  vessel  in  the  ordinary  boat,  but 
was  taken  by  the  high  chief  Seumanutafa  in  the  cut- 
ter that  had  been  given  him  by  the  United  States 
Government.  The  awning  had  been  put  up  over  it 
and  it  was  all  trimmed  for  the  occasion  in  ferns  and 
jQowers.  Crowds  of  Samoan  friends — Fanua  (IVIrs. 
Gurr),  Laulii  (Mrs.  Willis),  Tamasese,  Amatua,  Tu- 
pua,  Tautala,  the  Vailima  household,  and  many 
others,  were  there  in  boats,  also  trimmed  with  ferns 
and  flowers,  to  see  them  off.  All  went  on  board  and 
were  taken  into  the  cabin,  w^here  they  were  treated 
to  bottled  lemonade  with  ice  in  the  glasses,  at  which 
they  marvelled  greatly.  Though  they  realized  that 
the  woman  who  had  done  so  much  for  them  in  the 
few  years  of  her  residence  among  them — who  had 
tended  them  in  sickness  and  sympathized  with  them 
in  sorrow — was  about  to  leave  them  for  ever,  they 
made  a  strong  effort  not  to  cloud  her  departure  with 
demonstrations  of  grief,  and  it  was  only  when  she 
took  farewell  of  Sosimo,  the  lan  w^ho  had  been  her 
beloved  husband's  body  servi,  it  at  Vailima,  that  they 
gave  signs  of  breaking  dr  .  All  had  brought  pres- 
ents, and  Mrs.  Stevenso  id  her  daughter  stood  on 
the  deck  wreathed  in  l.'o  v  cs,  surrounded  by  baskets 
of  pineapples,  oranges,  ^dnanas,  and  other  fruits. 
Each  departing  fri.r.  _,  [■  fter  kissing  their  hands,  added 
something  to  thf'  pil^  of  gifts — Samoan  fans,  seed 
and  shell  neck'  .cS,  j  jIIs  of  tapa,  and  native  woven 
baskets,  and     .  •  two  ladies  had  all  the  fingers  of  both 


THE  LONELY  DAYS  OF  WIDOWHOOD    259 

hands  adorned  with  Samoan  tortoise-shell  rings.  As 
the  ship  steamed  away  the  httle  flotilla  of  boats, 
looking  like  green  bouquets  on  the  water,  followed 
them  for  some  distance,  the  boatmen  singing  as  they 
rowed  the  farewell  song  of  the  islands,  To-fa  mifeleni 
(good-bye,  my  friend). 


f9 


CHAPTER  X 
BACK  TO  CALIFORNIA 

For  six  months  or  more  before  Mrs.  Stevenson's 
departure  for  England  in  1898,  she  had  been  suffering 
severely  from  an  illness  which  finally  necessitated  a 
surgical  operation.  This  operation,  which  was  a  very 
critical  one  and  brought  her  within  the  valley  of  the 
shadow  for  a  time,  was  performed  in  London  by  Sir 
Frederick  Treves,  the  noted  surgeon  and  physician  to 
the  King.  Treves  asked  no  fee,  saying  that  he  con- 
sidered it  a  privilege  to  give  this  service  to  the  widow 
of  Stevenson. 

While  the  family  were  in  Dorking,  where  they  had 
taken  a  house  for  the  summer,  Mrs.  Strong  received 
a  letter  of  sympathy  from  INIrs.  Stevenson's  old  friend, 
Henry  James,  which  is  so  characteristic  that  I  am 
impelled  to  quote  it: 

"Deab  Mrs.  Strong: 

"I  have  been  meaning  each  day  to  write  to  you 
again  and  tell  you  how  much,  in  these  days,  I  am 
with  you  in  thought.  I  can't  sufficiently  rejoice  that 
you  are  out  of  town  in  this  fearful  heat,  which  the 
air  of  London,  as  thick  as  the  wit  of  some  of  its  in- 
habitants, must  now  render  peculiarly  damnable.  I 
rejoice,  too,  that  you  have,  like  myself,  an  old  house 

260 


BACK  TO  CALIFORNIA  261 

in  a  pretty  old  town  and  an  old  garden  with  pleasant 
old  flowers.  Further,  I  jubilate  that  you  are  within 
decent  distance  of  dear  old  George  Meredith,  whom 
I  tenderly  love  and  venerate.  But  after  that,  I  fear 
my  jubilation  ceases.  I  deeply  regret  the  turn  your 
mother's  health  has  taken  has  not  been,  as  it  so  utterly 
ought  to  be,  the  right  one.  But  if  it  has  determined 
the  prospect  of  the  operation,  which  is  to  afford  her 
relief,  I  hope  with  all  my  heart  that  it  will  end  by 
presenting  itself  to  you  as  'a  blessing  in  disguise.* 
No  doubt  she  would  have  preferred  a  good  deal  less 
disguise,  but,  after  all,  we  have  to  take  things  as 
they  come,  and  I  throw  myself  into  the  deep  comfort 
of  gratitude  that  her  situation  has  overtaken  her  in 
this  country,  where  every  perfect  ministration  will 
surround  her,  rather  than  in  your  far-off  insular  abyss 
of  mere — so  to  speak — picturesqueness.  I  should 
have  been,  in  that  case,  at  the  present  writing,  in  a 
fidget  too  fierce  for  endurance,  whereas  I  now  can 
prattle  to  you  quite  balmily;  for  which  you  are  all, 
no  doubt,  deeply  grateful.  Give  her,  please,  my  ten- 
der love,  and  say  to  her  that  if  London  were  actually 
at  all  accessible  to  me,  I  should  dash  down  to  her 
thence  without  delay,  and  thrust  myself  as  far  as 
would  be  good  for  any  of  you  into  your  innermost 
concerns.  This  would  be  more  possible  to  me  later 
on  if  you  should  still  be  remaining  awhile  at  Dorking 
— and,  at  any  rate,  please  be  sure  that  I  shall  manage 
to  see  you  the  first  moment  I  am  able  to  break  with 
the  complications  that,  for  the  time,  forbid  me  even 
a  day's  absence  from  this  place.  I  repeat  that  it 
eases  my  spirit  immensely  that  you  have  exchanged 


262     LIFE  OF  MRS.  R.   L.  STEVENSON 

the  planet  Saturn — or  whichever  it  is  that's  the  fur- 
thest— for  this  terrestrial  globe.  In  short,  between 
this  and  October,  many  things  may  happen,  and 
among  them  my  finding  the  right  moment  to  drop  on 
you.  I  hope  all  the  rest  of  you  thrive  and  rusticate, 
and  I  feel  awfully  set  up  with  your  being,  after  your 
tropic  isle,  at  all  tolerant  of  the  hollyhocks  and  other 
garden  produce  of  my  adopted  home.  I  am  extremely 
busy  trying  to  get  on  with  a  belated  serial — ^an  effort 
in  which  each  hour  has  its  hideous  value.  That  is 
really  all  my  present  history — ^but  to  you  all  it  will 
mean  much,  for  you  too  have  lived  in  Arcadia !  I 
embrace  you  fondly,  if  you  will  kindly  permit  it — 
every  one;  beginning  with  the  Babe,  so  as  to  give  me 
proper  presumption,  and  working  my  way  steadily  up. 
Good-bye  till  soon  again. 

"Yours,  my  dear  Teuila,  very  constantly, 

"Henry  James." 

Except  for  this  unfortunate  illness  the  family  spent 
a  pleasant  summer  in  England,  in  a  Httle  cottage  sur- 
rounded by  an  old-fashioned  garden  near  Burford. 

One  of  the  purposes  of  this  visit  to  England  was 
Mrs.  Stevenson's  desire  to  carry  out  one  of  her  hus- 
band's last  requests.  In  a  letter  not  to  be  opened 
until  after  his  death  he  asked  that,  if  the  arrange- 
ments already  made  for  the  writing  and  publication 
of  his  biography  by  Sidney  Colvin  should  not  have 
been  carried  out  within  four  years,  it  should  be  placed 
in  the  hands  of  some  other  person.  As  the  four  years 
had  elapsed  and  nothing  had  been  done  in  the  mat- 
ter, it  was  decided  that  Graham  Balfour,  Stevenson's 


From  a  photograph  by  HoUinger,  London 

Mrs.  Robert  Loui.s  Stevenson 


BACK  TO  CALIFORNIA  263 

cousin  and  devoted  friend,  should  undertake  the  task; 
and  when  Mrs.  Stevenson  had  partially  recovered 
from  her  illness  she  removed  to  the  Balfour  residence 
and  gave  her  assistance  for  some  time  in  laying  out 
the  plans  for  the  book. 

Her  convalescence  was  very  slow,  and,  finding  the 
damp  climate  of  England  unfavourable,  she  finally 
decided  to  move  to  the  island  of  Madeira  for  rest  and 
recuperation.  Accompanied  by  her  son  and  his 
family,  her  daughter  having  left  for  New  York  City 
to  join  her  son,  Austin  Strong,  she  travelled  by  slow 
stages  through  France,  Spain,  and  Portugal,  reaching 
Madeira  in  the  earlj'^  part  of  December,  1898.  From 
Lisbon  they  sailed  in  a  filthy  little  Portuguese  steamer, 
freighted  with  hay  and  kerosene,  and  the  passengers, 
in  utter  disregard  of  the  inflammable  nature  of  the 
cargo,  scattered  cigarette  ends  and  lighted  matches 
all  over  the  ship.  However,  a  kind  Providence  car- 
ried them  to  port  without  accident. 

After  a  most  uncomfortable  voyage  of  two  days 
and  nights  they  drew  into  the  beautiful  bay  of  Fun- 
chal,  with  its  curving  shore  and  background  of  lofty 
mountains.  The  quintas,  or  country-houses,  each 
surrounded  by  a  terraced  garden  and  vineyard,  which 
dotted  the  slopes,  gave  a  cheerful  air  to  the  land- 
scape. Mrs.  Stevenson  speaks  of  it  as  the  "most 
picturesque  place"  she  ever  saw,  and  she  had  seen 
many  of  the  beauty  spots  of  the  world. 

In  a  letter  to  her  daughter  written  from  here  she 
says:  "My  plans  are  vague.  The  years  ahead  of  me 
seem  like  large  empty  rooms,  with  high  ceilings  and 
echoes.     Not  gay,  say  you,  but  I  was  never  one  for 


264     LIFE  OF  MRS.  R.  L.  STEVENSON 

gaiety  mucli — and  I  may  discover  a  certain  grandeur 
in  the  emptiness." 

When  at  last  her  strength  seemed  equal  to  the  long 
journey,  she  once  more  turned  her  face  towards  the 
setting  sun,  and  beautiful  California.  On  the  way  a 
flying  stop  was  made  in  Indiana  to  see  relatives  and 
friends  of  her  girlliood.  Speaking  of  them  she  says, 
"I  saw  my  old  friends,  the  Fletchers.  They  came  to 
see  me  in  droves,  and  it  was  strange  to  see  them  old 
men  and  women,  talking  of  their  grandchildren.  It 
seems  so  difficult  to  realize  that  one's  self  is  old;  in- 
deed, I  don't  believe  I  ever  shall."  While  in  Indian- 
apolis she  met  for  the  first  time  her  distinguished 
compatriot,  James  Wliitcomb  Rilej^  who  afterwards 
wrote  to  her  recalling  the  occasion  of  their  meeting 
in  his  own  gentle,  kindly  way.     I  quote  the  letter: 

"Indianapolis,  Christmas,  1900. 
"Dear  Mrs.  Stevenson: 

"Since  your  brief  visit  here  last  winter  I've  been 
remembering  you  and  your  kindness  every  day,  and 
in  fancy  have  written  down — hundreds  of  times — 
my  thanks  to  you  and  yours — once,  when  first  well 
enough  to  get  down-town,  wrapping  a  photograph 
for  you  of  the  very  well  man  I  used  to  be.  Finding 
the  portrait  this  Christmas  morning,  I  someway 
think  it  good-omenish,  and  so  send  you  the  long- 
belated  thing,  together  with  a  copy  of  a  recent  book 
in  which  are  most  affectionally  set  some  old  and 
some  new  lines  of  tribute  to  the  dear  man  who  is 
just  away.  How  I  loved  him  through  his  lovely  art ! 
And  how  I  loved  all  he  loved  and  yet  loves — for  with 


BACK  TO  CALIFORNIA  ^65 

both  heart  and  soul,  and  tears  and  smiles,  he  seems 
very    near   at   hand.     Therefore   my    very   gentlest 
greetings  on  this  blessed  day  go  out  to  him  as  to  you. 
"Fraternally, 

"James  Whitcomb  Riley."* 

Mrs.  Stevenson  wished  to  live  within  sight  of  the 
Pacific  Ocean,  so  she  purchased  a  lot  at  the  corner 
of  Hyde  and  Lombard  Streets,  on  the  very  top  of  one 
of  San  Francisco's  famous  hills,  and  at  once  began 
the  building  of  her  house,  Uving  meanwhile  for  a  time 
on  Belvedere  Island  and  later  at  2751  Broadway. 
The  creation  of  a  new  thing — whether  it  might  be  a 
dress,  a  surprise  dish  for  the  table,  a  garden  or  a 
house,  always  appealed  strongly  to  her,  and  as  she 
plunged  eagerly  into  the  business  of  planning  and 
discussing  with  architects  and  contractors,  her  inter- 
est in  life  rose  again.  As  she  remarked,  "It  is  awfully 
exciting  to  build  a  house."  Mr.  Willis  Polk  was  the 
architect,  but  he  followed  her  design,  which  she  made 
by  building  a  little  house  out  of  match-boxes  on  the 
corner  of  a  table.  The  house  was  rather  unusual  in 
its  plan,  flat-roofed,  and  with  architecture  somewhat 
"on  the  Mexican  order,"  as  the  contractor  said.  It 
fitted  in  well  with  the  landscape  and  gave  one  a  feel- 
ing of  home  comfort  and  cheer  within.  She  herself 
said  it  was  "like  a  fort  on  a  cliff."  Hidden  from  the 
street  by  a  high  retaining  wall  and  a  colonnade  em- 
bowered in  vines  was  a  beautiful  garden  where  she 
gradually  collected  rare  plants  from  various  parts  of 
the  world.     A  wide  stretch  of  emerald  lawn  filled  tlie 

*  Quoted  by  courtesy  of  Mr.  Edmund  Eitel,  nephew  of  Mr.  Riley. 


266     LIFE  OF  MRS.  R.  L.  STEVENSON 

centre,  and  around  its  borders  were  massed  flowering 
shrubs  and  smaU  trees — low-growing  varieties  pur- 
posely chosen  in  order  not  to  hide  the  sea  view  from 
the  windows.  Here  a  climbing  syringa  brought  from 
the  romantic  Borda  gardens  in  Mexico,  where  the 
sad  Empress  Carlota  used  to  walk,  flung  out  its  ten- 
drils gaily  to  the  salt  sea  breeze,  and  seemed  never  to 
miss  the  kindlier  sun  of  its  former  home.  At  one 
side  there  was  a  small  cemented  pool,  the  birds* 
drinking-place,  where  many  of  the  little  creatures 
came  to  dip  their  bills  and  trill  their  morning  songs. 
In  this  quiet  scented  garden,  kept  safe  from  intruding 
eyes  on  all  sides  by  vine-covered  walls  and  shrubbery, 
one  might  sit  and  dream,  reminded  of  the  outside 
world  only  by  the  clanging  of  a  street-car  bell  or  the 
distant  whistle  of  an  ocean  steamer. 

Within  the  walls  of  this  house  were  a  thousand 
objects  gathered  in  her  wanderings  in  all  sorts  of 
strange  places,  but  the  greatest  attraction  was  the 
magnificent  outlook  over  sea  and  land  afforded  by  its 
commanding  position.  From  the  flat  roof  one  looked 
down  on  one  side  upon  the  picturesque  city,  with  its 
many  hills  and  steeply  climbing  streets,  all  a-glitter 
at  night  with  a  million  twinkhng  lights,  and  on  tlie 
other  upon  the  great  sparkHng  expanse  of  the  bay, 
alive  with  craft  of  every  sort,  from  the  great  ocean 
steamer  just  in  from  the  Orient  to  the  tiny  fisher 
boats,  with  their  lateen  sails,  returning  with  their 
day's  catch  from  outside  the  "Heads."  From  the 
drawing-room  windows  one  could  see  the  winking 
eye  of  Alcatraz  Island,  grim  rocky  guardian  of  the 
Golden  Gate,  and  all  the  ships  of  the  Pacific  fleets 


BACK  TO  CALIFORNIA  267 

making  their  slow  way  in  to  their  docking  places. 
How  often  must  she  have  looked  out  upon  those  re- 
turning wanderers  of  the  deep  and  thought  with  a 
tender  sadness  of  that  daj'  in  the  treasured  past  when 
the  Silver  Ship  sailed  away  with  her  and  her  beloved 
towards  the  enchanted  isles  ! 

Once  she  stood  watching  from  these  windows  for 
the  transport  that  was  coming  in  with  soldiers  from 
the  Philippines,  among  whom  was  her  nephew,  Ed- 
ward Orr.  As  the  ship  hove  in  sight  she  sent  her 
grandson  flying  to  the  roof  to  wave  a  welcome  with 
a  large  flag,  and  almost  the  first  thing  the  homesick 
young  soldier  saw  as  he  turned  eager  eyes  shorewards 
was  the  fluttering  banner  high  on  the  house-top  on 
the  hill.  Having  nothing  else  convenient  with  which 
to  return  the  salute,  he  and  his  mates  snatched  a 
sheet  from  a  bunk  and  waved  it  from  a  porthole. 
Meanwhile  Mrs.  Stevenson  had  despatched  her  son 
to  hire  a  launch  and  take  the  mother  and  sisters  of 
her  nephew  out  to  meet  him,  and  as  soon  as  the  sea- 
worn  and  tired  young  soldiers  had  landed  at  the 
Presidio  she  sent  out  baskets  of  fruit  and  bottles  of 
milk  for  their  refreshment. 

Island  memories  were  always  dear  to  her,  and 
when  one  day  she  heard  that  a  ship  had  come  into 
port  manned  witli  sailors  from  Samoa,  she  at  once 
sent  to  the  dock  and  invited  them  all  to  call  on  her. 
Soon  the  dark-skinned,  picturesque  troop,  shy  but 
proud  of  the  attention  shown  them  by  Tusitala's 
widow,  arrived.  The  ava  bowl  was  brought  out  and 
placed  before  them  as  they  sat  cross-legged  on  the 
floor  in  a  semi-circle,  and  after  the  brewing  of  the 


268     LIFE  OF  MRS.  R.   L.  STEVENSON 

ava  it  was  drunk  with  all  the  proper  ceremonies  of 
speech-making  and  exchanges  of  compliments.  Mr. 
Carmichael  Carr,  who,  with  his  mother,  the  well- 
known  singer,  was  one  of  the  visitors  that  day,  writes: 
"I  have  a  wonderfully  clear  picture  of  the  reception 
Mrs.  Stevenson  gave  and  tlie  South  Sea  men  she  had 
gathered  around  her — their  strange  appearance  and 
incantations  and  the  peculiar  drink  they  brewed." 

At  the  Hyde  Street  house  she  received  many  dis- 
tinguished people — actors,  writers,  singers,  and  eveii 
royalties.  There  Henry  James,  S.  S.  McClure,  David 
Bispham,  William  Faversham  and  his  wife,  ex- 
Queen  Liliuokalani  and  a  hundred  others  went  to 
pay  her  their  respects.  It  was  at  a  reception  she  was 
giving  to  Liliuokalani — which,  by  the  way,  she  gave 
in  the  hope  of  arousing  favourable  interest  in  the 
Queen's  mission  to  Wasliuigton  to  seek  justice — that 
she  first  met  David  Bispham,  and  first  heard  him 
sing,  too,  in  a  rather  unusual  way.  Some  one — I 
think  it  was  Gelett  Burgess — said  to  the  Queen,  "Will 
your  Majesty  please  issue  a  royal  command?  We 
have  never  heard  one."  Whereupon  her  Majesty 
pointed  her  finger  at  Bispham  and  said,  "The  bard  is 
commanded  to  sing ! " 

When  the  Stevenson  Society  of  San  Francisco  held 
their  yearly  meetings  of  commemoration  on  Louis's 
birthday  she  was  the  honoured  guest,  and  it  was  char- 
acteristic of  her  to  remember  to  invite  his  old  friend, 
Jules  Simoneau  of  Monterey,  for  these  occasions. 
When  she  first  asked  the  old  man  to  come  he  shrugged 
his  shoulders  and  said:  "What!  Will  you  take  me 
to  see  your  fine  friends  in  this  old  blouse  ?     I  have  no 


BACK  TO  CALIFORNIA  269 

other  clothes."  "Your  clothes  are  nothing,"  she 
repHed.  "All  that  matters  to  me  is  that  you  were 
my  husband's  dear  friend."  So  he  went,  and  was 
entertained  in  her  house  with  as  much  consideration 
as  though  he  had  been  a  prince  of  the  blood.  On  the 
evening  of  the  dinner  given  by  the  Society  at  the  old 
restaurant  which  had  once  been  frequented  by  Steven- 
son, she  took  Simoneau  in  her  carriage,  and  when  a 
fashionable  young  lady  in  her  party  objected  to  this 
arrangement  she  was  rebuked  by  being  sent  home  in 
a  street-car. 

Among  other  public  functions  to  which  she  was 
mvited  to  do  her  honour  as  the  widow  of  Stevenson 
was  a  banquet  given  by  the  St.  Andrews  Society, 
which  included  nearly  all  the  Scotchmen  in  San 
Francisco.  In  conversation  with  three  of  them  she 
remarked  that  she  had  the  sugar  bowl  from  which 
Bobby  Burns  had  sweetened  his  toddy  when  he  went 
to  see  Robert  Stevenson,*  and,  after  inviting  them  to 
call,  promised  to  mix  a  toddy  for  them  and  sweeten 
it  from  the  same  historic  sugar  bowl.  About  a  week 
later  the  three  appeared,  exceedingly  Scotch  in  their 
long  black  coats  and  silk  hats,  and  each  carrying  a 
formal  bouquet.  They  had  a  delightful  time,  drink- 
ing their  toddy,  which  was  duly  sweetened  from  the 
hallowed  bowl,  and  reciting  Burns's  poems  to  her  in 
such  broad  Scotch  that  she  could  not  understand  a 
word  of  it.  But  she  loved  the  sound  of  it  all  the 
same. 

It  was  soon  after  her  return  to  San  Francisco  that 
Mrs.  Stevenson  interested  herself  in  the  story  of  a 

*  Robert  Louis  Stevenson's  grandfathec. 


270     LIFE  OF  MRS.  R.  L.  STEVENSON 

half-caste  Samoan  girl,  a  sort  of  modern  Cinderella, 
of  whom  she  had  heard  before  leaving  the  islands. 
This  ghl,  who  was  an  orphan,  had  been  left  a  fortune 
in  lands  and  money  in  Samoa  by  her  American  father, 
and  when  she  was  five  years  of  age  had  been  sent  to 
San  Francisco  by  her  guardian  to  be  educated. 
There,  through  a  combination  of  circumstances,  she 
disappeared,  and  her  property  in  Samoa  lay  un- 
claimed, while  the  rents  went  to  the  benefit  of  others. 
\\Tien  IMrs.  Stevenson  heard  of  this  she  determined 
to  make  a  search  for  the  girl,  and  as  soon  as  she 
reached  San  Francisco  set  out  to  do  so.  After  the 
rounds  of  all  the  private  schools  and  seminaries  had 
been  made  without  success,  her  friend.  Miss  Chismore, 
thought  of  trying  the  charity  orphan  asylums,  and  in 
one  of  these,  a  Catholic  convent  school  for  orphans, 
she  found  a  girl  bearing  a  somewhat  similar  name  to 
the  lost  one.  Mrs.  Stevenson,  taking  with  her  a 
Samoan  basket  and  some  shells,  immediately  went 
out  to  see  her.  At  the  school  a  small,  dark,  shy  girl 
w^as  brought  by  the  sisters  into  the  visitors'  room, 
and  at  sight  of  the  Samoan  basket  she  gave  a  joj^ul 
cry  of  recognition.  The  long-lost  heiress  was  found, 
living  as  a  pauper  in  a  charity  school !  The  difficulty 
then  was  to  prove  her  claim  to  the  property  and  secure 
it  for  her.  In  her  determination  to  do  tliis  Mrs. 
Stevenson  went  to  Washington,  where,  after  seeing 
senators,  priests  of  the  Catholic  Church,  and  other 
persons  in  authority,  she  finally  succeeded  in  having 
the  girl's  lands,  with  some  of  the  back  rents,  restored 
to  her.  All  this  was  like  a  fairy  story  to  the  kind 
sisters  at  the  convent,  and  their  joy  was  unbounded 


BACK  TO  CALIFORNIA  271 

at  seeing  their  little  pauper  pupil  thus  romantically 
transformed  into  the  rich  princess.  Meanwhile  Mrs. 
Stevenson  invited  the  young  lady  to  her  house,  gave 
a  party  in  her  honour,  helped  her  buy  clothing  suitable 
to  her  new  station,  and,  when  the  time  came  for  her 
triumphant  departure  to  claim  her  island  possessions, 
went  to  see  her  off  on  the  steamer.  As  long  as  this 
little  Cinderella  lived  she  never  forgot  the  fairy  god- 
mother who  had  worked  this  wonderful  change  in  her 
life. 

It  was  during  this  period  that  the  regrettable  inci- 
dent of  Mr.  Henley's  attack  on  the  memory  of  Ste- 
venson occurred — an  incident  that  attracted  a  great 
deal  more  attention  in  England  than  in  America, 
where  it  was  forgotten  almost  as  soon  as  it  hap- 
pened. Mrs.  Stevenson  herself  always  ascribed  this 
strange  act  on  the  part  of  her  husband's  old  friend  to 
his  state  of  health,  which  had  never  been  good  and 
was  rapidly  growing  worse;  and,  because  she  believed 
he  had  become  embittered  by  his  misfortunes,  she 
bore  no  rancour.  In  referring  to  it  she  repeated  one 
of  her  favourite  sayings,  "To  know  all  is  to  forgive 
all,"  and  when,  after  Mr.  Henley's  death,  his  widow 
wrote  to  her  asking  for  letters  to  be  published  in  his 
"life,"  she  sent  them  with  a  kind  and  affectionate  note. 

While  the  house  in  San  Francisco  was  building, 
Mrs,  Stevenson  went  away  for  a  time,  accompanied 
only  by  her  maid,  for  a  camping  trip  in  the  Santa 
Cruz  Moim tains,  down  among  the  redwoods.  The 
delights  of  the  place  where  they  camped,  in  a  shady 
little  valley  about  ten  miles  from  Gilroy,  soon  won 
her  heart  completely,  and  she  decided  to  purchase  a 


272     LIFE  OF  MRS.   R.   L.   STEVENSON 

small  ranch  there  for  a  permanent  summer  home. 
For  the  first  season  she  lived  there  in  true  campers* 
fashion,  which  she  describes  in  a  letter  to  her  daugh- 
ter: "At  the  ranch  I  have  one  tent  with  a  curtain  in 
the  middle.  We  sleep  on  one  side  of  the  curtain  and 
sit  on  the  other.  I  have  only  the  most  primitive 
facilities  for  cooking,  and  the  butcher  is  twelve  miles 
away  over  a  mountain  road.  He  is  anything  but 
dependable,  and  when  I  send  for  a  piece  of  roast  beef 
I  may  get  a  soup  bone  of  veal,  or  a  small  bit  of  liver, 
or  a  side  of  breakfast  bacon,  which  I  keep  hung  in  a 
tree.  I  cannot  keep  flour  on  a  tree,  so  am  dependent 
on  the  boarding-house  [a  small  summer  resort  about 
a  quarter  of  a  mile  distant]  for  my  bread,  and  if  they 
are  short  I  have  no  bread.  If  I  find  I  lack  something 
essential  I  have  to  spend  a  whole  day  driving  to  town 
through  the  deep  dust  to  get  it.  But  of  course  I  am 
going  to  do  all  kinds  of  things  by  and  by."  The 
truth  was  that  this  sort  of  life  was  exactly  to  her 
taste,  and  the  wilder  and  rougher  it  was  the  better  it 
suited  her.  She  was  always,  to  the  end  of  her  days, 
the  pioneer  woman,  and  the  greensward  of  the  woods 
went  better  to  her  feet  than  carpeted  halls. 

Afterwards  tents  were  put  up  for  the  accommoda- 
tion of  her  family,  and  every  spring,  after  the  rains 
were  over,  they  all  moved  down  to  take  up  a  delight- 
ful out-of-door  life  such  as  can  scarcely  be  enjoyed 
anywhere  in  the  world  except  in  California.  Cooking 
was  done  in  the  open  air,  and  meals  were  taken  at  a 
long  table  spread  in  a  deep  glen,  where  the  trees  were 
so  thick  that  it  was  pleasantly  cool  even  on  the  hot- 
test days. 


BACK  TO  CALIFORNIA  273 

As  time  went  on  the  mistress  of  this  sylvan  para- 
dise grew  more  and  more  attached  to  it,  and  she  at 
length  decided  to  build  more  permanent  quarters. 
First  of  all,  slie  made  a  model  of  a  house  out  of  match 
boxes,  with  pebbles  for  the  foundation  wall,  all  glued 
together,  painted  and  complete.  Then  she  hired  a 
country  carpenter  and  built  her  house — a  pleasant 
little  dwelling,  with  a  wide  veranda  extending  in  coun- 
try fashion  around  two  sides  of  it. 

In  building  the  foundation  wall  boulders  from  the 
stream  were  used,  and  many  were  found  bearing  bold 
imprints  of  fossil  ferns,  birds,  and  snakes.  Mrs. 
Stevenson  was  delighted  to  have  these  reminders  of 
a  past  age  for  her  wall,  but,  aJas,  during  her  absence 
the  stones  were  all  cemented  in  place  with  the  nice 
smooth  sides  outward  and  the  fossils  turned  inward. 

Although  it  was  so  different  from  the  tropic  island 
that  had  now  become  but  a  tender  memory,  yet  there 
was  much  about  this  place  that  recalled  Vailima  days 
— the  sweet  seclusion,  the  rich  greenery  all  about,  the 
music  of  the  httle  tinJding  stream,  and,  above  all,  the 
morning  song  of  the  multitudes  of  birds.  It  was  for 
this,  and  perhaps  to  make  a  link  between  her  Cah- 
fornia  home  and  that  other  far  across  the  wide  Pacific 
that  she  chose  to  call  the  little  ranch  in  the  Santa 
Cruz  Mountains  Vanumanutagi,  vale  of  the  singing 
birds. 

At  Vanumanutagi  Mrs.  Stevenson  led  a  simple  life, 
spending  most  of  her  time  out-of-doors  and  occupying 
herself  with  plans  for  the  planting  and  improvement 
of  the  land.  The  house  was  simply  furnished,  and 
the  country  people  were  charmed  with  the  gay  chintz 


274     LIFE   OF  IVIRS.   R.   L.   STEVENSON 

and  bright  wall-paper,  the  brick  fireplace,  and  the 
general  appropriateness  of  it  all.  As  it  was  not  large, 
tents  were  put  up  for  the  family  and  guests  to  sleep  in. 

Even  this  peaceful  spot  had  its  excitements,  for  in 
the  autumn,  when  the  undergrowth  everywhere  was 
as  dry  as  tinder,  its  quiet  was  sometimes  disturbed 
by  the  outbreak  of  California's  summer  terror — forest- 
fires.  One  of  the  worst  of  these  happened  when  Mrs. 
Stevenson  was  at  the  ranch  with  only  her  sister 
Ehzabeth*  and  a  maid.  It  came  suddenly,  and  the 
first  they  knew  of  it  was  the  sight  of  what  they  took 
to  be  sea  fog,  rolling  and  tumbling  ovef  the  tops  of 
the  hills.  They  soon  knew  it  for  what  it  was  when 
it  came  pouring  down  into  the  valley  and  they  began 
to  choke  with  its  acrid  smell.  Presently  horsemen 
came  galloping  by  on  their  way  to  warn  ranchers  of 
the  fire,  and  every  little  while  a  man  would  come  out 
and  report  the  progress  made  in  checking  it.  It  was 
an  oppressive,  hidden  danger,  for  nothing  could  be 
seen  from  the  valley  of  the  actual  flames  through  the 
thick  suffocating  curtain  of  smoke  that  hung  over  all. 
The  only  avenue  of  escape  was  by  way  of  the  road  to 
Gilroy,  and  the  fire  threatened  momentarily  to  cut 
this  off.  Not  wishing  to  abandon  the  place  to  its 
fate,  Mrs.  Stevenson  thought  out  a  plan  for  saving 
their  lives  in  the  last  emergency  by  wrapping  up  in 
wet  blankets  and  crouching  in  a  sort  of  hole  or  low 
place  in  an  open  field  near  the  house.  Fortunately 
the  fire  was  stopped  before  this  became  necessary. 

It  was  while  she  was  living  at  the  ranch  that  Mrs. 
Stevenson  began  to  write  the  introductions  to  her 

*  The  late  Mrs.  E.  E.  Mitchell,  of  Nebraska  City,  Nebraska. 


BACK  TO   CALIFORNIA  275 

husband's  works  in  the  biographical  edition  brought 
out  by  Charles  Scribner's  Sons.  As  she  had  but  a 
modest  opinion  of  her  abilities,  she  undertook  this 
work  with  the  greatest  reluctance,  and  in  a  letter  to 
Mr.  Scribner  she  remarks,  "It  appalls  me  to  think  of 
my  temerity  in  writing  these  introductions."  Yet  I 
believe  that  everyone  who  reads  them  will  feel  that 
a  new  and  personal  interest  has  been  added  to  each 
one  of  his  books  by  her  graphic  story  of  the  circum- 
stances of  its  writing. 

Among  the  best  loved  of  the  infrequent  guests  who 
braved  the  long,  hot,  dusty  drive  from  Gilroy  to  the 
ranch  was  the  young  California  writer,  Frank  Norris. 
During  his  visits  there  Mrs.  Stevenson  became  much 
attached  to  him,  and  he  in  turn  was  so  charmed  with 
the  place  and  the  life  that  he  determined  to  buy  a 
ranch  in  the  neighbourhood.  As  I  have  already  said, 
when  an  opportimity  offered  he  bought  the  Douglas 
Sanders  place,  Quien  Sabe  Rancho,  intending  to  spend 
all  his  summers  there.  Writing  to  Mrs.  Stevenson 
about  his  plans  in  his  gay  boyish  fashion,  he  says: 

"My  dear  Mrs.  Stevenson: 

"This  is  to  tell  you  that  our  famous  round-the- 
world  trip  has  been  curtailed  to  a  modest  little  excur- 
sion Samoa-wards  and  back,  or  mebbe  we  get  as  far 
as  Sydney.  We  wont  go  to  France,  but  will  come  to 
Quien  Sabe  in  February— FEBRUARY  !  W^e  find  in 
figuring  up  our  stubs  that  we  have  a  whole  lot  more 
money  than  we  thought,  but  the  blame  stuff  has  got 
to  be  transferred  from  our  New  York  bank  to  here, 
which  (because  we  went  about  it  wrong  in  the  first 


276     LIFE  OF  MRS.  R.  L.  STEVENSON 

place),  can't  be  done  for  another  two  weeks.  We 
will  make  the  first  payment  on  Quien  Sabe  before 
October  1st— $250.  Will  you  ask  Lloyd  to  let  us 
know — or  I  mean  to  bear  us  in  mind — if  he  hears  of 
a  horse  for  sale  so  we  could  buy  the  beast  when  we 
come  up  next  February.  Meanwhile  will  keep  you 
informed  as  to  'lightning  change'  programme  we  are 
giving  these  days. 

"Ever  thine  (I've  clean  forgot  me  nyme)." 

The  Norris  cabin  stands  high  on  the  mountain 
slope,  and  is  reached  by  a  steep  winding  road  leading 
up  from  Vanumanutagi  Ranch. 

To  this  ideal  spot,  this  secluded  little  lodge  in  the 
wilderness,  Frank  Norris  hoped  to  bring  his  wife  and 
little  daughter  and  spend  many  happy  and  fruitful 
summers.  Here  he  intended  to  work  on  the  last 
volume  of  his  series  of  the  wheat  trilogy — the  story 
of  the  hunger  of  the  people,  which  was  to  be  called 
by  the  appropriate  name  of  The  Wolf.  His  joy  in 
his  new  purchase  was  unbounded,  and  many  improve- 
ments to  the  cabin  and  ranch  were  projected.  In  all 
these  plans  Mrs.  Stevenson  took  a  more  than  neigh- 
bourly interest,  for  she  spent  time  and  money  in  help- 
ing to  make  the  place  comfortable  and  attractive. 
Among  other  things  she  built  a  curbing  around  the 
well,  using  for  the  purpose  boulders  from  the  inex- 
haustible supply  in  the  bed  of  the  stream,  and,  to 
have  all  complete,  even  sent  to  Boston  for  a  real 
"old  oaken  bucket."  At  just  the  right  intervals 
along  the  steep  road  to  the  cabin,  measured  off  by 


BACK  TO  CALIFORNIA  277 

her  own  indefatigable  feet,  she  placed  rustic  seats, 
where  the  tired  chiuber  might  rest. 

But  alas  !  All  tliese  pleasing  hopes  came  to  naught, 
for  within  a  short  time  after  buying  the  ranch  sudden 
death  cut  him  off  in  the  flower  of  his  youth  and  the 
first  imfolding  of  his  genius.  This  was  a  sad  blow 
to  INIrs.  Stevenson,  for  she  had  become  much  attached 
to  the  brilliant  and  lovable  young  wTiter.  Sometime 
afterwards  she  thought  of  putting  up  a  memorial  to 
him  on  the  httle  ranch  where  he  had  hoped  to  spend 
many  happy  years.  Having  decided  that  it  should 
take  the  form  of  a  stone  seat,  bearing  a  suitable  in- 
scription, she  went  to  work  in  conjunction  with 
Gelett  Burgess  to  make  the  design.  The  site  chosen 
for  the  seat  is  upon  a  small  level  spot  a  few  yards 
below  the  cabin,  at  the  side  of  the  winding  road  lead- 
ing up  from  the  Stevenson  ranch.  In  carrying  out 
this  project  she  took  a  melancholy  pleasure,  as  she 
writes  in  a  letter  to  Mr.  Charles  Scribner,  dated  1902 : 
"I  am  building  a  memorial  seat  to  poor  Frank  Norris. 
With  the  assistance  of  a  couple  of  men  I  have  gathered 
a  lot  of  boulders  from  the  bed  of  a  stream,  and  from 
these  we  have  fashioned  a  bench  to  hold  six  or  eight 
people,  and  set  it  where  the  view  is  glorious.  I  have 
helped  lay  the  stones,  and  have  dabbled  in  mortar 
until  I  can  hardly  use  my  hands  to  write.  This  sort 
of  work  is  so  much  more  interesting  than  scratching 
with  a  pen.  In  the  joy  of  even  so  poor  a  creation  I 
forget  the  sad  purpose  of  it,  and  am  as  happy  as  one 
hopes  to  be  who  has  lived  as  long  as  I." 

Before  these  two  friends — he  in  the  springtime  of 


278     LIFE   OF  MRS.   R.   L.   STEVENSON 

his  days,  she  in  the  mellow  autumn  of  maturity — 
passed  away,  they  were  persuaded  to  record  their 
voices  in  a  phonograph,  but  it  was  a  useless  effort, 
for  no  one  who  loved  them  has  ever  been  able  to 
endure  to  listen  to  their  spirit  voices,  as  it  were,  speak- 
ing from  the  other  world. 


CHAPTER  XI 
TRAVELS  IN  MEXICO  AND  EUROPE 

Eight  years,  divided  between  the  house  "like  a  fort 
on  a  cUff"  in  San  Francisco  and  the  sylvan  solitude 
of  the  little  ranch  tucked  away  in  its  corner  in  the 
mountains  of  the  Holy  Cross,  shpped  by  happily 
enough.  Now  and  again  the  wandering  mood  came 
back,  but,  except  for  one  visit  to  France  and  Eng- 
land, Mrs.  Stevenson  confined  her  journeyings  to  the 
American  continent. 

One  of  these  excursions  led  her  to  Mexico — a 
country  that  she  found  more  interesting  than  any 
she  had  ever  visited  in  Europe.  Sometimes  I  think 
this  may  have  been  because  of  some  primitive  ele- 
ment in  her  own  nature  that  responded  to  the  tradi- 
tions of  that  strange  land — so  aged  in  history,  so 
young  in  civilization — but,  anyway,  she  told  me  that 
she  felt  a  genuine  thrill  there  such  as  she  had  never 
experienced  in  any  of  the  historic  places  of  the  Old 
World.  At  the  tomb  of  Napoleon  she  remained  cold, 
but  at  the  "tree  of  the  sad  night,"  where  Cortes  is 
said  to  have  wept  bitter  tears  on  that  dark  and  rainy 
night  away  back  in  1520,  her  imagination  was  deeply 
touched.  At  the  church  of  Guadalupe  she  looked  at 
the  pitifully  crude  paintings  and  other  thank-offerings 
of  the  simple  devotees  with  deep  and  sympathetic 
interest. 

£79 


280     LIFE  OF  IVIRS.  R.  L.  STEVENSON 

Much  more  interesting  than  the  city  of  Mexico 
she  found  the  quaint  and  ancient  town  of  Cuernavaca, 
where  Maximilian  was  wont  to  come  with  his  Em- 
press to  enjoy  the  delights  of  the  famous  Borda  Gar- 
dens. These  gardens,  though  fallen  from  their  first 
high  estate,  were  still  very  beautiful  at  the  time  of 
Mrs.  Stevenson's  visit. 

Of  these  pleasant  days  in  Cuernavaca  she  writes 
in  a  letter  to  her  daughter: 

"I  have  a  little  plant  from  the  garden  where  Car- 
Iota  lived,  wliich  I  think  is  a  chmbing  syrioga.  We 
go  round  nearly  every  evening  to  the  palace  built  by 
Cortes,  in  one  room  of  which  he  strangled  one  of  his 
mistresses.  ...  I  had  always  supposed  MaximiHan 
to  be  a  most  exemplary  person,  but  he  seems  to  have 
lived  in  a  palace  some  three  miles  from  here  with  a 
beautiful  Mexican  girl,  while  poor  Carlota  was  left 
alone  in  town  in  the  Borda  Gardens.  .  .  .  Every- 
body goes  barefoot  here,  though  all  dressed  up  other- 
wise, and  everybody  wears  the  rebozo*  This  morn- 
ing I  killed  a  scorpion  on  the  wall  alongside  the  bed, 
and  the  other  day  I  also  assisted  in  the  killing  of  a 
tremendous  tarantula  in  the  middle  of  the  road.  We 
stood  far  off  and  threw  stones  at  it.  None  of  mine 
hit  the  mark,  but  I  tlirew  like  mad.  ...  I  hope 
you  were  not  frightened  by  the  news  of  the  earth- 
quake here.  We  got  a  good  shake  but  no  harm  done. 
Just  a  Httle  south  of  us  there  has  been  terrible  dam- 
age— a  whole  town  destroyed  and  people  killed. 
Here  all  the  people  ran  into  the  streets,  and  kneeUng, 
held  out  their  hands  towards  the  churches  that  con- 

*  The  rebozo  is  a  aoarf  or  shawl  worn  wound  about  the  head  and  shoulders. 


TRAVELS  IN  MEXICO  AND  EUROPE    281 

tain  their  miraculous  images.  .  .  .  We  have  had  a 
'blessing  of  the  animals'  at  the  cathedral,  where  cats, 
dogs,  eagles,  doves,  cocks  and  hens,  horses,  colts, 
donkeys,  cows  and  bulls,  dyed  every  color  of  the 
rainbow  and  wearing  wreaths  of  artificial  flowers 
round  their  necks,  were  brought  to  receive  this  sacra- 
ment. I  wanted  to  take  Burney  [her  httle  Scotch 
terrier],  but  feared  his  getting  some  contagion,  so 
gave  it  up,  and  now  my  Burney  has  forever  lost  the 
chance  of  becoming  a  holy,  blessed  dog.  .  .  .  The 
native  people  here  are  very  abject,  and  seem  almost 
entirely  without  intellect;  yet  they  are  the  only  ser- 
vants to  be  had  unless  one  sends  to  California,  and 
they  make  life  a  desperate  business.  The  only  spu-it 
I  have  seen  in  any  of  them  was  to-day,  when  a  native 
policeman  tried  to  get  up  a  fight  between  his  own 
huge  dog  and  my  little  Burney.  Of  course  Burney 
the  valiant  was  ready  for  the  fray  and  would  prob- 
ably have  disposed  of  the  big  dog  had  I  not  run  up, 
closing  and  clubbing  my  parasol  as  I  came.  The 
policeman  thought  I  was  going  to  strike  him,  and  for 
one  second  stood  up  to  me  fiercely,  saying  *No  Senor- 
ita !  No  Senorita ! '  Then  his  knees  suddenly  gave 
way  and  he  and  his  dog  and  his  friend  who  was  stand- 
ing by  to  see  fair  play  utterly  collapsed." 

Steeped  as  the  country  was  in  old  tradition,  and 
far  removed  as  it  seemed  from  all  knowledge  of  the 
outside  world,  the  name  of  Robert  Louis  Stevenson 
had  penetrated  to  its  inmost  recesses,  and  its  people 
were  pleased  to  bestow  honour  upon  his  widow  Writ- 
ing of  this  she  says:  "I  want  to  tell  you  that  at  every 
little  lost  place  on  the  road  I  have  received  extra 


282     LIFE  OF  IVIRS.  R.  L.  STEVENSON 

attention  because  of  my  name.  In  this  house  I  have 
the  best  room,  the  landlord  himself  giving  it  up  to 
me.     I  hope  Louis  knows  this." 

The  little  plant  of  which  she  spoke,  the  climbing 
syringa,  which  was  given  to  her  as  a  special  favour  by 
the  man  in  charge  of  the  Borda  Gardens,  reached 
San  Francisco  in  good  condition  and  took  most  kindly 
to  its  new  home.  Slips  of  it  were  given  to  friends, 
and  its  sweet  flowers,  reminiscent  of  the  ill-fated 
queen  who  once  breathed  tlieir  perfume,  now  scent 
the  air  in  more  than  one  garden  round  San  Francisco 
Bay. 

It  was  not  long  after  her  return  from  this  trip  to 
Mexico  that  Mrs.  Stevenson  began  to  be  troubled 
with  a  bronchial  affection  that  increased  as  she  ad- 
vanced in  years  and  made  it  necessarj'^  for  her  to  seek 
a  frequent  change  from  the  cool  climate  of  San  Fran- 
cisco. In  November  of  1904  a  severe  cough  from 
which  she  was  suffering  led  her  southward.  This 
time  she  was  accompanied  by  Salisbury  Field,  the 
son  of  her  old  friend  and  schoolmate  of  Indiana  days, 
Sarah  Hubbard  Field.  Mr.  Field  had  now  become  a 
member  of  Mrs.  Stevenson's  household,  and  at  a 
later  date  married  her  daughter,  Isobel  Osboume 
Strong. 

Arriving  at  La  Jolla  by  the  sea,  a  most  picturesque 
spot  on  the  southern  coast  of  California,  they  were 
disappointed  in  not  finding  it  as  warm  as  they  had 
expected,  so  it  was  decided  to  go  further  south.  In 
the  course  of  their  inquiries  at  San  Diego  they  met  a 
Western  miner  named  George  Brown,  who  told  them 
stories  of  a  lonely  desert  island  off  the  coast  of  Lower 


TRA.VELS  IN  MEXICO  AND  EUROPE    283 

California,  where  he  was  about  to  open  a  copper-mine 
for  the  company  for  which  he  was  general  manager. 
The  more  he  talked  of  this  lonesome  isle  and  of  how 
barren  and  desolate  it  was  the  more  Mrs.  Stevenson 
was  fascinated  with  it,  and  when  he  finally  invited 
them,  in  true  Western  fashion,  to  accompany  him 
thitlier,  she  joyfully  accepted.  In  the  early  part  of 
January  she  took  passage  with  her  Httle  party,  con- 
sisting of  herself,  Mr.  Field,  and  her  maid,  on  the 
small  steamer  St.  Deiiis,  which  was  sailing  from  San 
Diego  and  making  port  at  Ensenada  and  San  Quintin 
on  the  way  to  Cedros  Island. 

At  the  island  tlie  Stevenson  party  was  offered  the 
large  company  house  of  ten  rooms  by  Mr.  Brown, 
but  preferred  to  live  in  a  Httle  whitewashed  cottage 
that  stood  on  the  beach.  Except  for  the  Mexican 
famihes  of  the  mine  workmen  there  were  no  women 
on  the  island  besides  IVIrs.  Stevenson  and  her  maid. 
The  small  circle  of  Americans  soon  became  intimately 
acquainted,  for  the  lack  of  other  society  and  interests 
naturally  drew  them  close  together.  Besides  George 
Brown,  Clarence  Beall,  and  Doctor  Chamberlain,  the 
company  doctor,  there  was  only  a  queer  old  character 
known  as  **  Chips,"  a  stranded  sea  carpenter  who 
was  employed  to  build  lighters  on  the  beach. 

Mrs.  Stevenson  had  all  of  Kipling's  fondness  for 
mining  men,  engineers — all  that  great  class  of  work- 
ers, in  fact,  who  harness  the  elements  of  earth  and 
air  and  bend  them  to  man's  wull — and  she  was  very 
happy  on  this  lonely  island  with  no  society  outside 
of  her  own  party  but  that  of  the  few  employed  at 
the  mine.     Between   her  and   Mr.  Beall,  a  yonng 


284     LIFE  OF  MRS.  R.  L.  STEVENSON 

mining  engineer  employed  on  the  island,  a  strong 
and  lasting  bond  of  friendsliip  was  established  from 
the  moment  of  their  first  meeting,  when  she  saw  him 
wet  and  cold  from  a  hard  day  of  loading  ship  through 
the  surf  and  msisted  on  "  mothering "  him  to  the 
extent  of  seeing  that  he  had  dry  clothing  and  other 
comforts.  And,  although  the  difference  between  the 
green  tropic  isle  beyond  the  sunset  wliich  lay  enshrined 
in  her  memory  and  this  barren  cactus-grown  pile  of 
volcanic  rocks  was  immeasurable,  yet  the  one,  in  its 
peace,  its  soft  sweet  air,  and  the  near  presence  of  the 
murmuring  sea,  called  back  the  other. 

When,  after  three  pleasant,  peaceful  months,  the 
time  came  for  her  departure,  there  was  general  sorrow 
on  the  island,  where  it  may  well  be  imagined  that  her 
presence  had  greatly  lightened  the  tedium  of  exist- 
ence for  its  lonely  dwellers.  "To  this  day,"  writes 
Doctor  Chamberlain,  "whenever  I  pick  up  one  of 
Mr.  Stevenson's  novels,  my  first  thoughts  are  always 
of  his  wife  and  our  days  at  Cedros  Island." 

While  in  Ensenada  on  the  return  trip  Mrs.  Steven- 
son heard  of  a  ranch  for  sale  there,  and  after  looking 
at  it  decided  to  purchase  it.  The  place,  known  as 
El  Sausal,*  lies  on  the  very  edge  of  tlie  great  Pacific, 
and  has  a  magnificent  beach.  The  climate  is  as 
nearly  perfect  as  a  climate  can  be,  and  Mrs.  Steven- 
son often  said  that  if  the  world  ever  learned  of  the 
magic  healing  in  that  country  there  would  be  a  great 
rush  to  the  peninsula,  so  long  despised  as  a  hopeless 
desert. 

*  Sausal   (proDouuced    suws41)   is   a    Spaoisb    word    meaoing    willow 
grove. 


TRAVELS  IN  MEXICO  AND  EUROPE    285 

There  was  only  a  little  cottage  of  a  very  humble 
sort  on  the  ranch  and  supplies  were  hard  to  get,  but 
she  loved  it  and  was  never  better  in  health  than 
when  she  was  at  Sausal.  At  this  time  she  returned 
to  San  Francisco,  but  the  following  winter  she  went 
back  to  take  possession  and  spent  some  time  there. 
Writing  to  Mr.  Charles  Scribner,  she  says:  "I  am 
living  in  a  sweet  lost  spot  known  as  the  Rancho  El 
Sausal,  some  six  miles  from  Ensenada  in  Lower  Cali- 
fornia. If  I  had  no  family  I  should  stop  here  forever; 
except  for  the  birds,  and  the  sea,  and  the  wind,  it  is 
so  heavenly  quiet,  and  I  so  love  peace."  Running 
through  the  place  was  a  little  stream,  the  banks  of 
which  were  thick  with  the  scarlet  "Christmas  berry," 
so  well  known  in  the  woods  of  Upper  California; 
multitudes  of  birds — canaries,  hmiets,  larks,  mocking- 
birds— all  sang  together  outside  the  door  in  an  amaz- 
ing chorus;  and  on  the  beach  near  by  the  sea  beat  its 
soft  rhythmic  measure. 

They  were  very  close  to  nature  at  Sausal,  but 
though  its  situation  was  so  isolated  they  had  no  fear, 
for  the  penalties  for  any  sort  of  crime  were  terrific. 
Burglary,  or  even  house-breaking,  were  punished 
with  death,  and  one  could  hardly  frown  at  another 
without  going  to  prison  for  it.  Sometimes  they  were 
surprised  by  the  sudden  appearance  of  a  man,  tired 
and  dusty,  dashing  up  on  a  foam-covered  horse  and 
asking  for  food.  To  such  an  unfortunate  they  always 
gave  meat  and  di'ink,  and  when  the  rurales*  presently 
galloped  up  and  demanded  to  know  whether  they 
had  seen  an  escaped  prisoner  they  swallowed  their 

*  Mexioaa  mounted  police. 


286     LIFE  OF  MRS.  R.  L.  STEVENSON 

conscientious  scruples  and  answered  "No  !"  Person- 
ally they  met  with  nothing  but  the  most  punctilious 
courtesy  from  the  Mexican  officials.  When  Mrs. 
Stevenson  received  a  Christmas  box  from  her  daugh- 
ter, the  chivalric  comandante  at  Ensenada,  in  order  to 
make  sure  that  she  should  have  it  in  time,  sent  it  out 
to  Sausal  magnificently  conducted  by  three  mounted 
policemen. 

When  she  left  this  peaceful  spot  in  the  spring  of 
1906  to  return  to  San  Francisco  she  little  thought 
that  she  was  moving  towards  one  of  the  most  dra- 
matic incidents  in  her  eventful  life.  All  went  as 
usual  on  the  journey  until  they  had  passed  Santa 
Barbara  on  the  morning  of  the  fateful  day,  April  18, 
when  vague  rumours  of  some  great  disaster  began  to 
circulate  in  a  confused  way  among  the  passengers. 
Soon  they  knew  the  dreadful  truth,  though  in  the 
swift  rimning  of  the  train  they  themselves  had  not 
felt  the  earthquake,  and  it  was  not  long  before  con- 
crete evidence  confirmed  the  reports,  for  at  Salinas 
they  were  halted  by  the  broken  Pajaro  bridge.  At 
that  place  Mrs.  Stevenson  slept  the  night  on  the 
train,  and  the  next  day  she  hired  a  team  and  drove 
by  a  roundabout  way  to  Gilroy,  near  which,  it  will 
be  remembered,  her  ranch,  Vanumanutagi,  was  situ- 
ated. There  they  learned  that  San  Francisco  was 
burning,  and  while  Mr.  Field  made  his  way  as  best 
he  could  to  the  doomed  city,  she  camped  in  a  little 
hotel  in  Gilroy  waiting  for  news — a  prey  meanwhile 
to  the  most  intense  fears  for  the  safety  of  various 
members  of  her  family,  from  whom  she  was  entirely 
cut  off. 


TRAVELS  IN  MEXICO  AND  EUROPE    287 

While  she  waited  as  patiently  as  might  be  in  the 
little  country  town,  there  were  strenuous  times  in  the 
burning  city,  but,  as  telegraph  wires  were  all  down 
and  no  mails  were  going  out,  she  was  compelled  to 
remain  in  suspense  until  three  days  later,  when  the 
fire  was  subdued  and  Mr.  Field  was  able  to  get  back 
to  her  with  the  news  that  her  family  were  all  safe 
and  her  house  unharmed.  The  story  of  the  rescue  of 
her  house  from  the  flames  has  been  curiously  contorted 
by  persons  who  have  attempted  to  write  about  it 
without  knowing  the  facts.  The  real  saviors  of  Mrs. 
Stevenson's  house  were  her  nephews  and  Mr.  Field, 
and  even  they  might  have  lost  the  day  had  it  not 
been  for  a  providential  wind  that  blew  in  strongly 
from  the  sea  against  the  advancing  wall  of  flame. 
For  three  days  and  nights  they  looked  down  from 
their  high  post  upon  the  raging  furnace  below  and 
anxiously  w^atched  the  progress  of  the  fire  as  it  leaped 
from  street  to  street  in  its  mad  race  up  the  hill,  and 
when  at  last  the  two  houses  and  a  large  wooden  reser- 
voir immediatelj'^  opposite  went  roaring  up  all  hope 
seemed  gone.  In  the  end  it  was  through  a  mere  trifle 
that  the  tide  of  fortune  was  turned  in  their  favour. 
In  the  garden  there  was  a  small  cement  pool,  the 
home  of  a  tiny  fish  answering  to  the  name  of  Jack. 
"When  the  water  in  the  pool  was  slopped  over  by  the 
earthquake  poor  Jack  was  tossed  some  yards  away 
upon  the  grass,  whence  he  was  rescued,  alive  and  wrig- 
gling, and  restored  to  his  own  element,  only  to  be 
killed  later  by  some  thoughtless  refugee  who  washed 
his  hands  in  the  water  with  soap.  The  half  bucket 
or  so  of  water  remaining  in  the  pool  helped  to  save 


288     LIFE   OF  IMRS.   R.   L.   STEVENSON 

the  day,  for  iJie  fire  fighters  dipped  rugs  and  sacks 
in  it,  and,  climbing  to  the  flat  roof,  took  turns  in 
dashing  through  the  scorching  heat  to  beat  the  cor- 
nices when  they  began  to  smoke.  Even  so,  the  escape 
was  so  narrow  that  at  times  it  seemed  hopeless,  and 
the  rescuers  took  the  precaution  to  dig  a  hole  in  the 
garden  and  bury  the  silverware,  the  St.  Gaudens 
plaque,  and  other  valuables. 

When  the  three  days'  conflagration  had  finally 
worn  itself  out  and  the  tired  and  smoke-begrimed 
fighters  could  take  account,  they  found  the  house 
and  its  contents  safe,  except  for  a  huge  hole  in  the 
roof  where  the  earthquake  had  thrown  down  a  large 
heavy  chimney,  piling  up  the  bricks  on  the  bed  in  the 
guest-chamber,  fortunately  not  occupied  at  the  time. 
But  the  outlook  was  ghastly,  for  the  house  stood  high 
on  its  clean-swept  hill  like  a  lonely  outpost  in  a  great 
waste  of  cinders,  half-fallen  chimneys,  and  sagging 
walls.  In  two  weelcs'  time,  while  they  still  smoked, 
the  ruins  took  on  a  strangely  old  look,  and  it  was 
like  standing  in  the  midst  of  the  excavations  of  an 
ancient  city.  Around  the  solitary  house  on  the  hill 
the  wind  howled,  making  a  mournful  moaning  sound 
through  the  broken  network  of  wires  that  hung 
everywhere  in  the  streets. 

Homeless  refugees,  running  through  the  streets  like 
wild  creatures  driven  before  a  prairie  fire,  came  pour- 
ing past,  and  some  stopped  to  build  their  lean-to 
shacks  of  pieces  of  board  and  sacking  against  the 
sheltering  wall  of  tlie  house.  Blankets  and  other 
things  were  passed  out  to  keep  them  warm,  and  when 
they  finally  went  their  way  the  blankets  went  with 


TRAVELS  IN   MEXICO  AND   EUROPE    289 

them,  but  Mrs.  Stevenson  was  glad  that  they  should 
have  them  and  said  she  would  have  done  the  same 
had  she  been  in  their  case. 

All  this  while  her  son  and  daughter — the  son  in 
New  York  and  the  daughter  in  Italy — were  in  a  state 
of  anguished  suspense  as  to  their  mother's  fate.  By 
a  strange  coincidence  the  daughter  had  herself  been 
in  some  danger  from  the  great  eruption  of  Vesuvius, 
and  had  but  just  escaped  from  that  when  she  heard 
newsboys  crying  in  the  streets  of  Rome,  "San  Fran- 
cisco tutta  distrutta!"  Several  days  passed  in  intense 
anxiety  before  she  received  the  telegram  with  the 
blessed  words  "Mother  safe!" 

As  it  was  quite  impossible  to  live  in  the  destroyed 
city  until  some  sort  of  order  should  be  established, 
even  water  being  unprocurable  on  the  Hyde  Street 
hill,  Mrs,  Stevenson  decided  to  take  refuge  for  the 
time  at  Vanumanutagi  Ranch  near  Gilroy.  Even 
there  she  found  a  sorry  confusion,  for  the  house  chim- 
neys were  all  wrecked  and  the  stone  wall  around  the 
enclosure  had  been  thrown  down  and  scattered. 
There  was  plenty  of  good  water,  however,  and  th« 
possibility  of  getting  provisions  and  li'vdng  after  a 
fashion,  so  she  settled  down  to  stay  there  until  condi- 
tions should  improve  in  the  city.  It  was  an  eerie 
place  to  stay  in,  too,  for  that  section  lies  close  to  the 
main  earthquake  fault,  and  the  quivering  earth  was 
a  long  time  settling  down  from  its  great  upheaval. 
For  as  long  as  a  year  afterwards  small  quakes  came 
at  frequent  intervals,  and  in  the  stillness  of  the  night 
strange  roaring  sounds,  like  the  approach  of  a  railroad 
train,  and  sudden  exploding  noises,  like  distant  can- 


290     LIFE   OF  IVIRS.   R.   L.   STEVENSON 

non  shot,  came  to  add  their  terrors  to  the  creaking 
and  swaying  of  the  little  wooden  house. 

After  some  months  Mrs.  Stevenson  went  to  San 
Francisco,  but  she  found  the  discomfort  still  so  great 
and  the  sight  of  the  ruined  city  so  depressing  that  she 
finally  yielded  to  the  persuasions  of  her  son  and  Mr. 
Field  to  accompany  them  on  a  trip  to  Europe.  They 
sailed  from  New  York  in  November,  1906,  on  the 
French  steamer  La  Provence. 

After  a  stay  of  only  three  or  four  days  in  Paris, 
they  took  the  train  for  the  south — an  all-day  trip. 
As  Mrs.  Stevenson  had  always  thought  she  would 
love  Avignon,  though  she  had  never  been  there,  it 
was  decided  to  go  there  first.  In  their  compartment 
on  the  train  there  was  a  French  bishop,  a  Monseigneur 
Charmiton,  and  his  sister,  with  whom  they  soon  fell 
into  conversation.  The  bishop  and  his  sister  seemed 
appalled  at  the  idea  of  anyone  wanting  to  spend  a 
winter  in  Avignon.  *'By  no  means  go  there,"  they 
said,  "but  come  down  where  we  live.  It  is  beautiful 
there."  The  good  people  had  a  villa,  it  seemed,  half- 
way between  Nice  and  Monte  Carlo.  But  Mrs.  Ste- 
venson wanted  to  decide  upon  Avignon  for  herself, 
so  they  went  on,  and  found  it  a  most  picturesque 
place,  but  soon  discovered  the  truth  of  the  old  saw, 
*' Windy  Avignon,  liable  to  plague  when  it  has  not  the 
wind,  and  plagued  with  the  wind  when  it  has  it." 
This  wind  swept  strong  and  cold  dowTi  the  Valley  of 
the  Rhone,  making  it  so  bleak  and  forbidding  that 
they  were  forced  to  cut  their  visit  short. 

They  left  next  day  for  Marseilles,  where  they  found, 
much    to    their    delight,    not    only    their    motor-car, 


TRAVELS  IN  MEXICO  AND  EUROPE    201 

which  had  been  shipped  from  New  York,  but  Mon- 
seigneur  Charmiton  and  his  sister,  who  were  on  the 
point  of  leaving  for  their  villa  at  Cap  Ferrat.  "And 
how  did  you  like  Avignon?"  were  their  first  words. 
Although  too  polite  to  say  "I  told  you  so,"  they  now 
insisted  the  Riviera  be  given  a  fair  trial.  So,  chance 
and  friendly  counsel  prevailing,  the  Stevenson  party 
motored  east  through  lovely  Provence,  passing  swiftly 
through  Hyeres  of  haunting  memory,  and  on  to 
Cannes,  where  they  stopped  the  night;  and  so  to  an 
hotel  in  Beaulieu,  where  Monseigneur's  sister  had 
engaged  rooms  for  them  till  a  villa  was  found  to  their 
liking.  And  soon  a  charming  one  at  St.  Jean-sur- 
Mer,  a  little  village  near  Beaulieu,  was  taken  for  the 
season. 

The  Villa  Mes  Rochers  stood  in  a  walled  garden, 
which  sloped  gently  to  a  terrace  on  the  edge  of  the 
sea — a  place  for  tea  in  the  afternoons  when  the  mis- 
tral was  not  blowing.  Here  they  settled  down  for 
the  winter. 

It  was  a  pleasant,  easy  fife.  There  were  friends 
in  Nice  and  Monte  Carlo;  there  was  the  daily  motor 
ride;  there  were  books  to  read,  letters  to  write,  and 
recipes  to  be  learned  from  the  French  and  set  down 
in  the  famous  cook  book  without  which  Mrs.  Steven- 
son never  travelled.  Here  they  lingered  till  April, 
and  then  set  out  in  their  motor  for  London. 

Their  route  again  lay  through  Provence.  They 
stopped  at  Aries,  famous  alike  for  its  beautiful  women 
and  its  sausages.  The  beautiful  women  were  absent 
that  day,  but  a  sausage  appeared  at  table  and  was 
pronounced  worthy  of  its  niche  in  the  sausage  Hall 


292     LIFE  OF  MRS.  R.  L.   STEVENSON 

of  Fame.  Further  along,  in  the  Cevennes,  they  were 
enchanted  with  Le  Puy,  and  the  lovely,  lovely  country 
where  Louis  had  made  his  memorable  journey  with 
Modestine.  And  so  they  went  on  north,  by  Channel 
steamer  to  Folkstone,  up  through  Kent,  and  into 
London  by  the  Old  Kent  Road;  then  to  lodgings  in 
Chelsea,  where  old  friends  called  and  old  ties  were 
renewed. 

After  a  month  in  London  a  house  was  taken  in 
Chiddingfold,  Surrey,  to  be  near  "the  dear  Faver- 
shams,"  as  Mrs.  Stevenson  akvays  called  them.  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  William  Faversham,  whom  Mrs.  Stevenson 
held  in  great  affection,  owned  The  Old  Manor  in 
Chiddingfold,  and  they  had  found  a  place  for  her 
near  them — Fairfield,  a  charming  old  house  in  an 
old-world  garden,  and,  best  of  all,  not  five  minutes' 
walk  from  The  Old  Manor. 

Life  at  Fairfield,  except  for  constant  rain,  was  de- 
lightful. Graham  Balfour,  the  well-beloved,  came 
for  a  visit;  Austin  Strong  and  his  wife  ran  down  from 
London;  many  an  afternoon  was  spent  at  Sir  James 
Barrie's  place  near  Famham.  Sir  James  loved  Mrs. 
Stevenson — a  dear,  shy  man  who  had  so  little  to  say 
to  so  many,  so  much  to  say  to  her.  Then  there  were 
the  Williamsons  (of  Lightning  Conductor  fame),  whom 
she  had  met  in  Monte  Carlo;  they  also  had  a  house 
in  Surrey.  And  there  were  Sir  Arthur  and  Lady 
Pinero,  who  lived  only  a  mile  or  two  from  Fairfield. 
Mrs.  Stevenson  considered  the  genial,  mtty,  gently 
cynical  Sir  Arthur  one  of  the  most  interesting  men  she 
had  ever  met.  Ladj^  Pinero  always  called  her  hus- 
band "Pin,"  and  Sir  Arthur  was  enchanted  when. 


TRAVELS  IN  MEXICO  AND  EUROPE    293 

after  looking  at  him  with  smiling  eyes,  Mrs.  Stevenson 
one  day  turned  to  Lady  Pinero  and  remarked,  "I've 
always  doubted  that  old  saying,  *It  is  a  sin  to  steal 
a  Pin,'  but  now  I  understand  it  perfectly." 

Katlierine  de  Mattos,  Stevenson's  cousin,  also 
honoured  Fairfield  with  a  visit,  and  Coggie  Ferrier, 
sister  of  Stevenson's  boyhood  friend,  and  the  woman 
perhaps  above  all  others  in  England  whom  Mrs. 
Stevenson  loved  best,  came  frequently.  And  always 
there  were  the  Favershams,  who  were  very  dear  to 
her  heart.  It  was  a  memorable  summer,  full  of  pleas- 
ant companionship — and  rain.  Towards  the  middle 
of  August,  on  account  of  the  never-ceasing  rain,  it 
was  finally  decided  to  abandon  Fairfield  and  return 
to  France  for  a  long  motor  trip. 

The  first  night  out  from  Chiddingfold  was  spent  at 
Tunbridge  Wells,  and  next  day  a  stop  was  made  at 
Rye  to  call  on  Henry  James.  Never  did  travellers 
receive  a  more  hearty  or  gracious  welcome.  It  is  a 
quaint,  lost  place.  Rye — one  of  the  old  Cinque 
Ports;  to  enter  it  one  passes  under  an  ancient 
Roman  arch;  tlie  nearest  railroad  is  miles  away. 
It  is  nice  to  think  that  after  giving  him  a  cup  of 
tea  in  her  drawing-room  in  San  Francisco  two 
years  before,  Mrs.  Stevenson  could  see  the  house  he 
lived  in,  admire  his  garden,  drink  tea  in  his  drawing- 
room,  and  talk  long  and  pleasantly  with  this  old  and 
valued  friend  she  was  never  to  see  again. 

The  second  motor  trip  in  France  was  an  unqualified 
success.  Keeping  to  the  west  and  avoiding  Paris, 
this  time  their  route  lay  through  Blois,  Tours,  Angou- 
leme,  Libourne,  Biarritz,  till,  finally,  several  miles 


294     LIFE  OF  MRS.  R.  L.  STEVENSON 

from  Pail,  they  had  a  panne,  as  they  say  in  France, 
and  their  motor,  which  had  behaved  remarkably  well 
until  that  moment,  entered  Pau  ignominiously  at  the 
end  of  a  long  tow-rope.  As  it  took  ten  days  to  make 
the  repairs  necessary,  they  used  the  interval  of  wait- 
ing to  go  by  train  to  Lourdes.  It  was  the  particular 
time  when  pilgrims  go  to  seek  the  heahng  waters  of 
the  miraculous  fountain,  and  they  saw  many  sad  and 
depressing  sights — for  the  lame,  the  halt,  the  blind, 
people  afflicted  with  every  sort  of  disease,  and  some 
even  in  the  last  agonies,  crowded  the  paths  in  a  piti- 
ful procession.  Mrs.  Stevenson  afterwards  said  that 
when  she  saw  the  blind  come  away  from  the  sacred 
fount  with  apparently  seeing  eyes,  and  the  lame 
throw  away  their  crutches  and  walk,  she  was,  as  King 
Agrippa  said  unto  Paul,  "almost  persuaded"  to  be- 
lieve. 

Gladly  putting  this  picture  behind  them,  they  went 
on  to  Bagneres-de-Bigorre,  a  little  village  nestling  at 
the  base  of  the  Pyrenees.  The  weather  there  was  per- 
fect, and  the  whole  atmosphere  of  the  place  so  sweetly 
simple  and  unsophisticated  that  Mrs.  Stevenson  loved 
it  best  of  all.  After  six  pleasant  days  spent  there, 
the  motor  now  mended,  they  returned  by  train  to 
Pau  and  resumed  their  trip — due  east  to  Carcasonne, 
that  lovely,  lovely  city,  with  its  mediaeval  ramparts 
and  towers,  and  then  on  to  Cette  on  the  Mediterra- 
nean, where  they  landed  in  a  storm. 

And  so  north,  almost  paralleling  their  first  trip, 
they  ran  through  Mende,  Bourges,  and  Montargis, 
and  one  rainy  afternoon  passed  within  sight  of  the 
village  of  Grez,  where  so  many  years  before  Fanny 


TRAVELS  IN  MEXICO  AND  EUROPE    295 

Osbourne  first  met  Louis  Stevenson,  but  the  memories 
that  it  brought  were  too  poignant,  and  she  was  only 
able  to  give  one  look  as  they  sped  swiftly  by. 

Arriving  in  Paris  on  October  3,  after  tliis  leisurely 
journey  through  beautiful  France,  they  remained 
but  a  few  days  there  and  then  went  on  to  London, 
where  they  met  the  Favershams  and  sailed  in  com- 
pany with  them  for  America  on  the  Vaieiiand.  With 
but  a  brief  stop  in  New  York  they  hastened  on  to 
San  Francisco  to  carry  out  a  certain  plan  that  had 
been  formulated  while  they  were  in  France.  Oddly 
enough,  it  was  on  the  other  side  of  the  world  that 
Mrs.  Stevenson  first  heard  of  beautiful  Stonehedge, 
the  place  at  Santa  Barbara  which  became  the  home 
of  her  last  days.  At  Monte  Carlo  she  met  Mrs. 
Clarence  Postley,  of  California,  who  dilated  on  the 
charms  of  the  Santa  Barbara  place — its  fine  old  trees, 
its  spring  water,  its  romantic  story  of  being  haunted 
by  the  ghost  of  a  beautiful  countess — until  finally 
Mrs.  Stevenson  said  that  if  it  was  as  charming  as 
that  she  would  buy  it.  After  her  return  to  California 
she  went  to  see  it,  and,  finding  it  even  more  lovely 
than  she  had  been  told,  the  bargain  was  struck.  It 
had  been  evident  for  some  time,  too,  that  her  health 
required  a  warmer  climate  than  that  of  San  Fran- 
cisco, and,  above  all,  she  longed  for  a  place  where  she 
might  live  more  in  the  open  than  the  winds  and  fogs 
of  the  bay  city  permitted.  So,  though  she  was  very 
sad  at  leaving  the  house  on  the  heights  where  she 
had  lived  long  enough  for  her  heart-strings  to  take 
root,  she  sold  it  in  1908  and  removed  to  the  southern 
place,  there  to  enter  on  a  new  phase  of  her  life. 


296     LIFE  OF  MRS.  R.   L.   STEVENSON 

The  house  at  Hyde  and  Lombard  Streets,  follow- 
ing out  the  curious  fatality  that  made  everything 
connected  with  her  take  on  some  romantic  aspect, 
became  for  a  time  the  abode  of  Carmelite  Sisters,  the 
Roman  Cathohc  Order  whose  strict  rules  require  its 
devotees  to  live  almost  completely  cut  off  from  the 
world.  The  long  drawing-room,  where  Mrs.  Steven- 
son had  entertained  so  many  of  the  great  people  of 
the  earth,  became  the  chapel,  and  in  place  of  the 
light  laughter  and  gay  talk  that  once  echoed  from  its 
walls  only  the  low  intoning  of  the  mass  was  heard. 
At  the  front  door,  where  the  Indian  pagan  idols  had 
kept  guard,  a  revolving  cylinder  was  placed  so  that 
the  charitable  might  put  in  their  donations  without 
seeing  the  faces  or  hearing  the  voices  of  the  immured 
nuns.  In  the  green  garden  where  Mrs.  Stevenson 
had  so  often  walked  and  dreamed  of  other  days  the 
gentle  sisters  knelt  and  prayed  that  the  sins  of  the 
world  might  be  forgiv^i. 


CHAPTER  XII 
THE  LAST  DAYS  AT  SANTA  BARBABA 

Of  all  the  beautiful  places  of  the  earth  where  it 
was  Fanny  Stevenson's  good  fortune  to  set  up  her 
household  gods  at  various  times,  perhaps  the  lovehest 
of  all  was  this  spot  on  the  peaceful  shore  of  the  sunset 
sea,  under  the  patronage  of  the  noble  lady,  Saint 
Barbara.  In  the  Samoan  gardens  tropical  flowers 
flamed  under  the  hot  rays  of  the  vertical  sun;  in  San 
Francisco  geraniums  and  fuchsias  rejoiced  and  grew 
prodigiously  in  the  salt  sea  fog;  but  at  Santa  Barbara, 
where  north  and  south  meet,  the  plants  of  every  land 
thrive  as  though  native  born.  The  scarlet  hibiscus, 
child  of  the  tropics,  grows  side  by  side  with  the  aster 
of  northern  chmes;  the  bougainvillaea  flings  out  its 
purple  sprays  in  close  neighbourhood  to  the  roses  of 
old  England;  the  sweet-william,  dear  to  the  hearts  of 
our  grandmothers,  blooms  in  rich  profusion  in  the 
shade  of  the  pomegranate;  and  in  brotherly  com- 
panionship with  the  Norwegian  pine  the  magnoHa- 
tree  unfolds  its  great  creamy  cups. 

In  her  garden  at  Stonehedge,  situated  in  lovely 
Montecito,  about  six  miles  from  Santa  Barbara, 
Fanny  Stevenson  found  the  chief  solace  of  her  decHn- 
ing  years.  Its  extent  of  some  seven  acres  gave  her 
full  scope  for  the  horticultural  experiments  in  which 
she  delighted.     When  she  took  possession  of  the  place 

297 


298     LIFE  OF  MRS.  R.   L.  STEVENSON 

it  was  in  rather  a  neglected  state,  but  that  was  all 
the  better,  for  it  gave  her  a  free  field  to  develop  it 
according  to  her  own  tastes.  The  house  was  a  well- 
built  but  old-fashioned  affair  of  an  unattractive  type, 
with  imitation  towers  and  gingerbread  trinunings, 
and  at  first  sight  her  friends  assured  her  that  nothing 
could  be  done  with  it.  Architects,  when  asked  for 
advice,  said  tlie  only  thing  was  to  tear  it  down  and 
build  a  new  house.  But,  instead,  she  called  in  a  car- 
penter from  the  town  and  set  to  work  on  alterations. 
When  all  was  done  the  house  had  a  pleasant  southern 
look  that  fitted  in  well  with  the  luxm'iant  growth  of 
flowers  and  trees  in  which  it  stood,  and  its  red  roof 
made  a  cheerful  note  in  the  landscape. 

In  the  grounds  she  worked  out  her  plans,  leisurely 
adding  something  year  by  year,  a  Httle  Dutch  gar- 
den, sweeping  walks  and  lawns,  a  wonderful  terraced 
rose-garden  with  a  stone  pergola  at  the  upper  end, 
where  the  creepers  were  never  trimmed  into  smug 
stiffness,  but  grew  in  wild  luxuriance  at  their  own 
sweet  will,  and  soon  they  made  a  glorious  tangle  of 
sweet-smelling  blooms  and  glossy  green  leaves.  From 
the  living-room  windows  one  looked  out  over  a 
broad  expanse  of  mossy  lawn;  groups  of  vermilion- 
coloured  hibiscus  and  poinsettias  kept  harmonious 
company;  dahlias  made  great  masses  of  gorgeous 
colour  among  the  green;  tall  hollyhocks  were  ranged 
along  the  veranda  in  old-fashioned  formalism;  indeed, 
it  would  be  like  quoting  from  a  florist's  catalogue  to 
mention  all  the  plants  to  be  found  in  this  garden. 

Nor  did  she  neglect  the  purely  useful,  for  the  most 
delicious   fruits    and    vegetables — from    the   lemons. 


r.  -   -^  »*''■"-  .-     1^ 

v^^bmj^^                     IJIh 

^^^k   --'  9 

H^MIB^^p^f^^ffMris 

'S 

^i 'iM^HHli^l^^iB^^lMffise**" 

'  F^'*!  VH 

t?^BHHv^ 

f 

f 

'^   '  -^'  It   ^^  ^^^^B 

-/'^ 

wi^^^ 

■  ■  ~;^/:w«t^^^^fe>*.4.^    '-3E^!^&^  .ju... 

■K^^^fl^^^^^ 

1^^^^^^^ 

^^^^^^^ 

^1^991 

%f 

•■                 «»         "-       xJ^*-       S.    ' 

It  -    -  ■ 

r  * 

Stonehedge  at  Santa  Harbara 


LAST  DAYS  AT  SANTA  BARBARA     299 

oranges,  and  loquats  of  the  south  to  the  apricots, 
apples,  and  pears  of  the  north — grew  to  perfection 
under  her  fostering  care.  She  was  always  on  the 
lookout  for  new  varieties,  and  I  find  among  her  cor- 
respondence a  letter  from  the  distinguished  horticul- 
turist, Luther  Burbank,  in  answer  to  her  request  for 
strawberry  plants: 

"Santa  Rosa,  California,  Feb.  21,  1911. 
"Dear  Mrs.  Stevenson: 

"I  feel  most  highly  honored  and  pleased  with  your 
kind  order  of  the  15th  instant  for  25  Patagonian 
strawberry  plants,  which  were  sent  out  j^esterday. 
.  .  .  You  can  never  know  the  regard  and  love  in 
which  Mr.  Stevenson  is  held  in  thousands  of  hearts 
who  have  never  expressed  themselves  to  you. 
"Sincerely  yours, 

"Luther  Burbank." 

The  story  of  Fanny  Stevenson's  life  at  Stonehedge 
is  one  of  the  still  peace  that  she  loved  more  and  more 
as  time  went  on,  almost  its  only  excitements  being 
the  blooming  of  a  new  flower,  the  digging  of  a  well, 
or  perhaps  the  trjdng  out  of  an  electric  pump.  The 
hurly-burly  of  the  world  was  far  away  from  that 
quiet  spot,  and  only  the  arrival  of  the  daily  mail  by 
rural  carrier,  or  an  infrequent  visitor  from  some  one 
of  the  country  houses  in  the  neighbourhood,  broke  the 
sweet  monotony  of  existence.  Of  the  simple  pleasures 
of  her  life  here  she  writes  to  her  husband's  cousin, 
Graham  Balfour,  in  these  words: 

"As  I  write,  my  delightful  Japanese  boy,  Yonida, 


300     LIFE  OF  MRS.  R.  L.  STEVENSON 

brings  me  in  a  great  bimcli  of  violets  in  one  hand  and 
quantities  of  yellow  poppies  in  tte  other,  while  in 
front  of  me  stands  an  immense  vase  of  sweet  peas — 
all  just  plucked  from  my  garden.  I  wish  that  you 
might  share  them  with  me,  and  that  you  might  hear 
the  mocking-bird  that  is  singing  by  my  window.  A 
mocking-bird  is  not  a  night-in-gale,  to  be  sure,  but 
he  has  a  fine  song  of  his  own.  I  have  such  a  nice 
little  household;  my  two  Japanese  young  men,  who 
do  gardening  and  such  things;  a  most  excellent,  very 
handsome,  middle-aged  cook  named  Kate  Romero, 
who,  in  spite  of  her  name  is  half  Irish  and  half  Eng- 
lish; and  Mary  Boyle,  altogether  Irish  and  altogether 
a  most  delightful  creature.  The  most  important 
member  of  the  family,  however,  is  my  cat;  Ejtson  is 
a  full-bred  Siamese  royal  temple  cat,  and  is  quite 
aware  of  his  exalted  pedigree.  He  exacts  all  and 
gives  nothing.  There  are  times  when  I  should  prefer 
more  affection  and  less  hauteur.  He's  a  proud  cat, 
and  loves  no  one  but  Kitson." 

This  cat,  a  strange  creature  coloured  like  a  tawny 
lion,  with  face,  tail,  and  paws  a  chocolate  brown,  and 
large  bright-blue  eyes  staring  uncannily  from  his  dark 
countenance,  possibly  had  more  affection  than  his 
haughty  manner  indicated,  for,  after  his  mistress's 
death,  he  refused  food  and  soon  followed  her  into  the 
other  world,  if  so  be  that  cats  are  admitted  there. 

In  this  house  were  gathered  all  the  heirlooms, 
books,  old  furniture,  pictures,  and  other  interesting 
objects  which  had  been  brought  down  from  San 
Francisco.  The  St.  Gaudens  medallion  of  Stevenson 
was  fitted  into  a  niche  over  the  mantelpiece  in  the 


LAST  DAYS  AT  SANTA  BARBARA     301 

living-room,  where  Mrs.  Stevenson  spent  much  of  her 
time  seated  before  the  great  fireplace  with  the  haughty 
Xitson  on  her  lap.  On  the  mantelshelf  there  was  a 
furious  collection  of  photographs — one  of  Ah  Fu,  the 
Chinese  cook  of  South  Sea  memory,  side  by  side 
with  tliat  of  Sir  Arthur  Pinero,  famous  pla;y'W"right — 
silent  witnesses  to  the  wide  extent  of  her  acquain- 
tance and  the  broad  democracy  of  her  ideas. 

At  Stonehedge  her  life  ran  on  almost  undisturbed 
in  the  calm  stillness  that  she  loved  so  much.  Now 
and  then  she  went  for  a  day*s  fishing  at  Serena,  a 
place  on  the  shore  a  few  miles  from  Stonehedge, 
With  its  background  of  high,  rugged  fcills  and  th& 
calm  summer  sea  at  its  feet  it  has  a  serene  beauty 
that  well  befits  its  name. 

At  infrequent  intervals  people  of  note  arriving  in 
Santa  Barbara  sought  her  out,  and  though  she  re- 
ceived them  graciously  she  was  equally  interested  in 
the  visit  of  an  Italian  gardener  and  his  wife,  who 
came  to  bring  her  a  present  of  some  rare  plant,  and 
with  whom  she  had  most  delightful  talks  about  the 
flowers  of  the  tropics.  She  was  much  pleased,  too, 
when  one  day  a  Scotch  couple,  plain,  kindly  people, 
came  merely  to  look  at  the  house  where  the  widow  of 
their  great  countryman  Hved.  When  they  came  she 
happened  to  be  in  the  garden  and  they  apologized 
for  the  intrusion  and  were  about  to  withdraw,  but 
the  moment  she  recognized  the  accent  she  welcomed 
them  with  outstretched  hands.  When  they  left  their 
carriage  was  loaded  with  flowers,  and  she  stood  on 
the  veranda  waving  her  hand  in  farewell. 

In  August,  1909,  accompanied  by  her  daughter,  Mr. 


302     LIFE   OF  MRS.   R.   L.   STE^^NSON 

Field,  her  nephew  Louis  Sanchez,  and  the  maid 
Mary  Boyle,  she  went  on  a  motor  trip  to  Sausal 
in  Lower  California,  where  they  found  that  tlie 
house  had  been  broken  into  by  duck  hunters,  and 
presented  a  forlorn  appearance.  Coming  from  the 
comfort  of  Stonehedge  to  this  deserted  cabin  was 
something  of  a  shock  to  the  rest  of  the  party,  and  but 
for  Mrs.  Stevenson  they  would  have  left  at  once. 
"Mrs.  Robinson  Crusoe,"  however,  justified  her  name 
with  such  enthusiasm  that  the  others  caught  fire. 
Louis  Sanchez  lent  a  ready  hand  to  repairs  and 
under  his  magic  fingers  doors  swung  upon  their 
hinges,  tables  ceased  to  wabble,  door-knobs  turned, 
and  even  a  comfortable  rocking-chair  "for  Tamaitai" 
emerged  from  a  hopeless  wreck.  IVIrs.  Strong  and 
Mary  Boyle  assaulted  the  little  cabin  with  soap  and 
water  and  disinfectants,  and  with  much  courage  and 
laughter  routed  two  swarms  of  bees  which  had  taken 
possession  of  the  ceiling.  IVL*.  Field  supplied  the 
larder  with  game  and  fish,  and  ran  the  automobile 
to  town  for  supplies.  Mrs.  Stevenson,  who,  at  Stone- 
hedge,  was  always  somewhat  dismayed  by  the  morn- 
ing demands  of  the  cook  for  the  day's  orders,  de- 
lighted in  surprising  the  party  with  unexpected  good 
dishes  which  she  cooked  with  her  own  hands. 

As  the  years  passed  her  health  began  to  show  dis- 
tinct signs  of  breaking,  and  when  she  proposed  another 
trip  to  Mexico  in  the  spring  of  1910,  her  family  feared 
she  was  not  strong  enough  to  endure  the  fatigue,  but 
as  she  herself  said  she  "would  rather  go  to  the  well 
and  be  broken  than  be  preserved  on  a  dusty  shelf," 
they  finally'  agreed. 


LAST  DAYS  AT  SANTA   BARBARA     303 

She  had  had  a  great  admiration  for  Mexico  ever 
since  lier  first  visit,  and  wanted  to  show  her  daughter 
the  land  she  said  was  "older  and  more  interesting'* 
than  any  country  she  had  ever  seen.  Then,  as  her 
nephew  was  a  mining  engineer  recently  graduated 
from  the  University  of  California,  she  hoped  to  find 
a  good  opening  for  him  in  that  land  of  gold  and 
silver.  The  three  set  off  in  high  spirits,  for  there 
was  nothing  Mrs.  Stevenson  liked  better  than  change 
of  scene. 

Although  during  tliis  time  in  Mexico  City  she  found 
the  altitude  very  tiying  in  its  effect  on  her  heart,  and 
was  in  consequence  obliged  to  keep  rather  quiet,  yet 
she  was  able  to  move  about  to  a  certain  extent  and 
to  see  some  of  the  sights  of  the  place.  She  loved  to 
sit  by  the  Viga  Canal  and  watch  the  life  of  the  people 
ebb  and  j3ow  along  its  tree-lined  stretches — the  queer 
old  flat-bottomed  and  square-ended  boats  coming  in 
on  work  days  with  vegetables  and  flowers  from  the 
so-called  "floating  gardens,"  and  on  days  of  fiesta 
transformed  into  pleasure  craft  with  gay  streamers 
and  flags.  On  moonhght  nights  the  tinkle  of  guitars 
sounded  everywhere  on  the  still  waters  of  the  canal 
and  far  out  on  the  lake,  for  it  is  the  custom  of  well- 
to-do  people  to  hire  these  boats  and  with  their  musi- 
cians spend  the  evening  a  la  Venice. 

In  the  city  the  travellers  were  much  interested  in 
the  Monte  de  Piedad,  the  pawn  shop  which  is  run 
under  State  control.  Here  great  bargains  may  some- 
times be  picked  up  in  jewels  left  there  by  ladies  of 
good  family  in  reduced  circumstances.  Mrs.  Steven- 
son had  a  very  feminine  liking  for  jewels,  but  they 


304     LIFE   OF  MRS.   R.   L.   STEVENSON 

had  to  be  different  from  the  ordinary  sort  to  attract 
her,  and  she  was  much  pleased  to  pick  up  in  Mexico 
some  pieces  of  the  odd  and  barbaric  designs  that  she 
especially  liked. 

Delightful  days  were  spent  in  the  city  prowling 
about  the  queer  old  shops  and  buying  curious  things 
that  are  not  to  be  found  in  other  parts  of  the  world. 
This  was  the  kind  of  shopping  that  she  really  enjoyed 
— this  poking  about  in  strange,  romantic  places. 

Among  the  very  few  people  that  Mrs.  Stevenson 
met  in  Mexico  in  a  social  way  was  the  well-known 
historian  and  archaeologist,  Mrs.  Zelia  Nuttall,  whom 
she  considered  a  most  charming  and  interesting 
woman.  Together  with  her  daughter  she  lunched 
with  Mrs.  Nuttall  at  her  picturesque  house,  once  the 
home  of  Alvarado,  in  the  outskirts  of  Mexico  City. 
It  was  the  oldest  house  they  had  ever  seen,  and,  with 
its  inner  patio,  outside  stairways  and  balconies,  and 
large  collection  of  rare  idols,  pots,  and  weapons  that 
Mrs.  Nuttall  had  herseK  unearthed  from  old  Indian 
ruins,  was  intensely  interesting. 

Hearing  of  an  opening  in  the  mining  business  at 
Oaxaca  for  her  nephew,  she  decided  to  go  there  and 
look  into  the  matter.  Conditions  at  Oaxaca  were 
found  to  be  even  more  primitive  than  at  the  capital. 
One  time  they  asked  for  hot  water,  but  the  American 
landlady  threw  up  her  hands  and  cried,  "Oh,  my 
dears !  There  is  a  water  famine  in  Oaxaca.  It  is 
terrible.  We  can  get  you  a  very  small  jug  to  wash 
with,  but  it  isn't  clear  enough  to  drink." 

"What  are  we  to  drink?" 

In  answer  to  this  she  brought  a  large  jug  cA  bottled 


LAST  DAYS   AT  SANTA   BARBARA     305 

water  tliat  tasted  strongly  of  sulphur.  This  they 
mixed  with  malted  milk  bought  at  a  grocery,  making 
a  beverage  of  which  they  said  that  though  they  had 
tasted  better  in  their  time,  they  certainly  never  had 
tasted  worse.  Notwithstanding  all  these  inconve- 
niences Mrs.  Stevenson  was  in  the  best  of  tempers 
and  keenly  interested  in  seeing  places  and  things, 
and  when  she  tired  was  happy  with  a  magazine  or 
sitting  at  a  window  watching  the  street  life.  The 
first  evening,  while  they  were  sitting  in  the  patio, 
there  was  a  violent  earthquake,  which  seemed  to 
them  worse  than  the  famous  shake  of  1906  in  San 
Francisco,  but  it  did  no  damage  and  the  hotel  people 
made  nothing  of  it. 

After  seeing  her  nephew  off  to  the  mines  at  Taviche, 
and  taking  a  side  trip  to  see  the  ancient  buried  city 
of  Mitla,  Mrs.  Stevenson  and  her  daughter  returned 
to  the  capital,  where  they  took  train  for  California, 
and  were  soon  at  home  again  amid  the  sweet  flowers 
of  Stonehedge.  There  Mrs.  Stevenson  once  more 
took  up  the  writing  of  the  introductions  to  her  hus- 
band's books,  for  which  she  had  contracted  with 
Charles  Scribner's  Sons.  As  I  have  already  said,  it 
was  only  after  much  urging  that  she  consented  to  do 
this  work,  and  her  almost  painful  shrinking  from  it 
appears  in  a  letter  of  March  25,  1911,  to  INIr.  Charles 
Scribner:  "With  this  note  I  send  the  introduction  to 
Father  Damien.  I  didn't  see  how  to  touch  upon  the 
others  when  I  know  so  little  about  them.  I  know 
this  thing  is  about  as  bad  as  anything  can  be.  I 
cringe  whenever  I  think  of  it,  but  I  seem  incapable  of 
doing  better.     If,   however,   it   is  beyond   the  pale. 


306     LIFE   OF  MRS.   R.   L.   STEVENSON 

write  and  tell  me,  please,  and  I  will  try  once  again. 
Louis's  work  was  so  mixed  up  with  his  home  life  that 
it  is  hard  to  see  just  where  to  draw  the  line  between 
telling  enough  and  yet  not  too  much.  I  dislike  ex- 
tremely drawing  aside  the  veil  to  let  the  public  gaze 
intimately  where  they  have  no  right  to  look  at  all.  I 
think  it  is  the  consciousness  of  this  feeling  that  gives 
an  extra  woodenness  to  my  style — style  is  a  big  word 
— I  should  have  put  it  'bad  style.'" 

It  was  during  this  time  that  news  came  of  a  severe 
accident  to  Alison  Cunningham,  Louis's  old  nurse — 
a  misfortune  which  resulted  in  her  death  within  a 
few  weeks.  Mrs.  Stevenson  always  felt  an  especial 
tenderness  for  "Cummy,"  as  the  one  whose  kind 
hand  had  tended  her  beloved  husband  in  his  infancy, 
and  she  very  gladly  aided  in  the  old  lady's  support 
during  her  last  years.  Lord  Guthrie,  Louis's  long- 
time friend  and  schoolmate,  says  in  his  booklet  on 
the  story  of  Cummy: 

"From  the  novelist's  widow  she  always  received 
most  delicate  and  thoughtful  kindness.  Mrs.  Steven- 
son often  wrote  to  her  and  she  amply  supplemented 
the  original  pension  settled  on  her  by  Mr.  Thomas 
Stevenson,  Louis's  father.  A  few  months  before 
Cummy 's  death  (at  the  age  of  ninety -two),  she  cor- 
dially agreed,  on  condition  that  Cummy  should  not 
know  of  it,  to  make  a  special  additional  annual  pay- 
ment which  I  had  ascertained,  from  an  outside  source, 
would  add  to  the  old  lady's  happiness.  And  as  soon 
as  she  received  my  letter  telling  her  of  Cummy 's 
accident  (a  fall  causing  a  broken  hip),  I  had  a  char- 
acteristically generous  message  from  her,  sent  by  wire 


The  last  portrait  of  Mrs.  Stevenson 


LAST  DAYS  AT  SANTA  BARBARA     307 

from  San  Francisco,  giving  me  carte-blanch e  for 
Cummy's  benefit.  I  call  this  message  characteristic, 
because  I  find  in  her  letters  such  passages  as  this: 
'Please,  dear  Cummy,  always  let  me  know  instantly 
when  there  is  anything  in  the  world  I  can  do  to  add 
to  your  comfort,  your  happiness,  or  your  pleasure. 
There  is  so  little  I  can  do  for  you,  and  I  wish  to  do 
so  much.  You  and  I  are  the  last;  and  we  must  help 
each  other  all  we  can,  until  we,  too,  follow.'"* 

When  Cummy  died  INIrs.  Stevenson  was  represented 
at  tlie  funeral  by  Mr.  A.  P.  Melville,  W.  S.,  and  a 
wreath  ordered  by  her  was  placed  on  the  coffin.  She 
also  bore  the  expense  of  Cummy's  last  illness  and 
funeral  and  had  a  handsome  tombstone  put  up  in 
her  memory. 

In  these  days  the  sands  began  to  run  low  in  the 
hour-glass  of  the  life  of  Fanny  Stevenson,  and  a 
great  weariness  seemed  to  be  settling  upon  her. 
Writing  to  Mr.  Scribner  in  June,  1913,  she  says:  "All 
my  life  I  have  taken  care  of  others,  and  yet  I  have 
always  wanted  to  be  taken  care  of,  for  naturally  I 
belong  to  the  clinging  vine  sort  of  woman;  but  fate 
seems  still  against  me."  Nevertheless,  I  truly  believe 
she  enjoyed  being  the  head  of  her  clan,  the  fairy  god- 
mother, the  chief tainess  of  her  family,  to  whom  all 
came  for  help  and  counsel.  But  now  the  shadows  of 
evening  were  growing  long,  and  she  was  getting  very, 
very  tired. 

But,  world-weary  as  she  was,  she  consented  at  this 
time  to  prepare  for  publication  in  book  form  the 
notes  which  she  had  taken,  primarily  for  her  hus- 

*  Quoted  by  courtesy  of  Lord  Guthrie. 


308     LIFE  OF  IMRS.   R.   L.   STEVENSON 

band's  use,  of  one  of  their  voyages  in  the  South  Seas. 
As  it  happened,  he  made  little  use  of  the  notes,  so 
that  most  of  it  was  new  material.  In  this  work,  for 
dear  memory's  sake,  she  took  a  real  pleasure,  of 
which  she  speaks  in  the  preface  in  these  words:  "The 
little  book,  however  dull  it  may  seem  to  others,  can 
boast  of  at  least  one  reader,  for  I  have  gone  over  this 
record  of  perhaps  the  happiest  period  of  my  life  with 
thrilling  interest."  The  book  was  brought  out  by 
Charles  Scribner's  Sons,  under  the  title  of  The  Cruise 
of  the  ''^  Janet  NicJwl,'*  and  it  has  a  melancholy  inter- 
est, apart  from  its  contents,  as  the  last  work  done  by 
her  in  this  life.  She  had  only  finished  the  reading 
of  the  proofs  a  few  days  before  her  death,  and  the 
book  did  not  appear  until  some  months  afterwards. 
In  November,  1913,  she  was  threatened  with 
asthma,  and  in  consequence  went  to  spend  some 
time  at  Palm  Springs,  a  health  resort  on  the  desert  in 
southeastern  California.  In  the  dry,  clear  air  of 
that  place  her  health  improved  so  wonderfully  that 
all  her  friends  and  family  believed  that  a  crisis  had 
passed,  and  that  she  had  fortunately  sailed  into  one 
of  those  calm  havens  which  so  often  come  to  people 
in  their  later  years.  She  returned  to  Stonehedge 
seemingly  well.  All  their  fears  were  lulled,  and  the 
blow  was  all  the  more  crushing  when,  on  the  18th  of 
February,  1914,  silently  and  without  warning,  she 
passed  from  this  life.  In  the  manner  of  her  death 
and  that  of  her  husband  there  was  a  striking  coinci- 
dence; each  passed  away  suddenly,  after  only  a  few 
hours  of  unconsciousness,  from  the  breaking  of  an 
artery  in  the  brain.     The  story  of  her  last  moments 


LAST  DAYS  AT  SANTA  BARBARA     309 

may  best  be  told  in  the  words  of  a  letter  from  her 
devoted  maid,  Agnes  Crowley,*  whicli  is  so  sincere 
and  touching  that  I  quote  it  without  eliminations: 

"My  dear  ISIrs.  Sanchez: 

"We  are  a  very  sad  little  household — we  are  all 
heart-broken,  to  think  our  dear  little  Madam  has 
gone  away  never  to  return.  It  seems  too  awful,  and 
just  when  she  was  enjoying  everything.  We  were 
home  from  Palm  Springs  just  one  week  when  she 
was  taken  away  from  us — but  you  can  console  your- 
self by  thioking  that  she  was  surrounded  by  love  and 
devotion.  She  was  not  sick  and  did  not  suffer. 
Tuesday  evening,  February  17,  she  felt  well  and  read 
her  magazines  until  nine  o'clock,  and  Mr.  Field 
played  cards  with  her  till  10.30.  Then  she  retired. 
The  next  morning  I  went  in  to  attend  to  her  as 
usual,  and  there  was  my  dear  little  Madam  lying 
unconscious.  I  thought  at  first  she  was  in  a  faint, 
and  I  quickly  ran  for  Mr.  Field;  he  jumped  up  and 
put  on  his  bathrobe  and  went  to  her  while  I  called 
Dr.  Hurst.  It  took  the  doctor  about  seven  minutes 
to  get  here,  and  as  soon  as  he  saw  her  he  said  it  was 
a  stroke,  but  he  seemed  to  be  hopeful  and  thought 
he  could  pull  her  through.  He  put  an  ice  pack  on 
her  head  and  gave  her  an  injection  in  the  arm  and 
oxygen  to  inhale,  and  she  seemed  to  begin  to  breathe 
natural,  and  we  all  hoped,  but  it  was  in  vain.  She 
never  regained  consciousness,  and  at  two  o'clock  she 
just  stopped  breathing,  so  you  see  she  did  not  suffer. 
But  oh  Mrs.  Sanchez,  we  all  seemed  so  helpless — we 

*  Her  former  maid,  Mary  Boyle,  had  married  and  left  her  service. 


310     LIFE  OF  MRS.   R.   L.   STEVENSON 

all  loved  her  so  and  yet  could  do  nothing.  Dr.  Hurst 
worked  hard  from  8.30  till  two  o'clock,  and  when  the 
end  came  he  cried  like  a  little  child,  for  he  loved  Mrs. 
Stevenson  very  much.  It  was  an  a\\dful  blow  to  us 
all — it  was  so  sudden.  This  place  will  never  seem 
the  same  to  William  and  me,  for  we  loved  our  little 
Madam  dearly,  and  it  was  a  pleasure  to  do  anything 
for  her — for  she  was  always  so  gentle  and  sweet.  I 
adored  her  from  the  first  time  I  ever  saw  her,  and 
will  always  consider  it  the  greatest  pleasure  of  my 
life  to  have  had  the  privilege  of  waiting  upon  her. 
"I  remain  very  affectionately, 

"Agnes  Crowley." 

When  the  angel  of  death  stooped  to  take  her  he 
came  on  the  wings  of  a  wild  storm,  which  raged  that 
week  all  through  the  Southwest — fitting  weather  for 
the  passing  of  the  "Stormy  Petrel."  Railroads  were 
flooded  all  over  the  country,  and  her  son,  Llo^d 
Osbourne,  was  delayed  by  washouts  for  some  days 
on  the  way  out  from  New  York.  On  his  arrival  the 
body  was  removed  to  San  Francisco,  where  a  simple 
funeral  ceremony  was  held  in  the  presence  of  a  few 
sorrowing  friends  and  relatives.  On  her  bier  red 
roses,  tj'pical  of  her  own  warm  nature,  were  heaped 
in  masses.  A  touching  incident,  one  that  it  would 
have  pleased  her  to  know,  was  the  appearance  of 
Fuzisaki,  her  Japanese  gardener  at  Stonehedge,  with 
a  wreath  of  beautiful  flowers.  It  was  in  accordance 
with  her  own  wish,  several  times  expressed  to  those 
nearest  her,  that  her  body  was  cremated  and  the 
ashes  later  removed  to  Samoa,  there  to  lie  beside  her 
beloved  on  the  lonely  mountain  top. 


LAST  DAYS  AT  SANTA  BARBARA     311 

To  her  own  family  the  sense  of  loss  was  overwhelm- 
ing, and  I  cannot  perhaps  express  it  better  than  in 
the  words  of  her  grandson,  Austin  Strong:  "To  say 
that  I  miss  her  means  nothing.  Why,  it  is  as  if  an 
Era  had  passed  into  oblivion.  She  was  so  much  the 
Chief  of  us  all,  the  Ruling  Power.  God  rest  her 
soul!" 

\^Tien  Fanny  Van  de  Grift  Stevenson  passed  from 
this  earth  the  news  of  her  death  carried  a  pang  of 
grief  to  many  a  heart  in  far  distant  lands.  One  who 
knew  her  well,  her  husband's  cousin,  Graham  Balfour, 
writes  his  estimate  of  her  character  in  these  words: 

"Although  I  had  met  Fanny  Stevenson  twice  in 
England,  I  first  came  to  know  her  on  my  arrival  at 
Vailima  in  August,  1892,  when  within  a  single  day 
we  established  a  firm  friendship  that  only  grew  closer 
until  her  death.  The  three  stanzas  by  Louis  so  com- 
pletely expressed  her  that  it  seems  useless  for  a  man 
to  add  anything  or  to  refine  upon  it: 

'Steel-true  and  blade-straight 

Honor,  anger,  valor,  fire, 

A  love  that  life  could  never  tire. 

Teacher,  tender  comrade,  wife, 
A  fellow-farer  true  through  life.' 

"These  were  all  the  essentials,  and  if  we  add  her 
devotion  to  her  children  and  her  loyalty  to  her  friends, 
we  have  the  fabric  of  which  her  life  was  woven.  Her 
integrity  and  her  directness  were  such  that  one  could, 
and  frequently  did,  differ  from  her  and  express  the 


312     LIFE  OF  MRS.  R.  L.  STEVENSON 

difference  in  the  strongest  terms  without  leaving  a 
trace  of  bitterness. 

"I  remember  in  particular  a  scheme  which  she 
wi^ed  to  set  on  foot  for  releasing  Mataafa  and  other 
Samoan  chiefs  from  their  exile  in  the  German  island 
of  Jaluit  and  carrying  them  off  to  Australia.  The 
project  was  a  wild  one  and  would  only  have  led  to 
their  return  and  disgrace,  and  in  these  terms  and 
much  stronger  expressions  we  discussed  it,  without 
ever  abating  one  jot  from  om*  personal  friendship. 

"And  in  the  long  years  that  followed  absence  made 
no  difference.  Every  letter,  when  it  came,  was  as 
full  of  affection  and  of  confidence  as  its  predecessors 
— full  of  loyalty  and  tenderness. 

"To  her  enemies,  of  course,  she  showed  another 
side.  Opposition  she  did  not  mind,  but  dishonesty 
and  deceit  were  unforgivable. 

"The  news  of  her  death  reached  me  in  St.  Helena, 
as  the  announcement  of  Louis's  death  found  me  on 
another  far-off  island  in  the  Carolines;  and  both 
times  the  world  became  a  coldo",  greyer,  more  monot- 
onous place." 

These  pages  have  been  written  in  vain  if  I  have 
not  made  clear  what  the  world  owes  this  rare  woman, 
not  only  for  the  sedulous  care  which  kept  the  invalid 
genius  alive  long  after  the  time  allotted  to  him  in  the 
book  of  fate,  but  for  the  intellectual  sjinpathy  and 
keen  discernment  with  which  she  stood  beside  him 
and 

"Burnished  the  sword,  blew  on  the  drowsy  coal. 
Held  still  the  target  higher,  chary  of  praise 
And  prodigal  of  counsel." 


LAST  DAYS  AT  SANTA  BARBARA     313 

In  speaking  of  literature's  great  debt  to  her,  Lord 
Guthrie  says: 

"Without  her  Louis's  best  work  neither  could  nor 
would  have  existed.  In  studying  the  hfe  and  works 
of  Thomas  Carlyle  I  often  had  occasion  to  contrast 
his  wife  and  Louis's.  With  all  Mrs.  Carlyle's  great 
and  attractive  qualities  and  her  undoubted  influence 
on  her  husband,  she  made  his  work  difficult  by  her 
want  of  perspective,  magnifying  molehills  into  moun- 
tains. It  could  not  be  said  tliat  any  of  his  great 
writings  owed  their  existence  to  her." 

An  article  appearing  in  the  Literary  Digest  shortly 
after  her  death  touches  upon  this  point: 

"Mrs.  Robert  Louis  Stevenson  was  content  to 
remain  in  the  background  and  let  her  husband  reap 
all  the  glory  for  his  literary  achievements,  and  the 
result  was  that  her  part  in  his  career  had  prob- 
ably been  minimized  in  the  public  mind.  She 
was  a  great  deal  more  than  a  mere  domestic  help 
meet." 

From  her  old  and  attached  friend,  Mr.  S.  S.  Mc- 
Clure,  comes  this  sincere  tribute: 

"The  more  I  saw  of  the  Stevensons  the  more  I 
became  convinced  that  Mrs.  Stevenson  was  the  unique 
woman  in  the  world  to  be  Stevenson's  wife.  .  .  . 
When  he  met  her  her  exotic  beauty  was  at  its  height, 
and  with  this  beauty  she  had  a  wealth  of  experience, 
a  reach  of  imagination,  a  sense  of  humor,  which  he 
had  never  found  in  any  other  woman.  Mrs.  Steven- 
son had  many  of  the  fine  quahties  that  we  usually 
attribute  to  men  rather  than  to  women ;  a  fair-minded- 
ness,   a   large   judgment,    a   robust,    inconsequential 


314     LIFE  OF  MRS.  R.  L.  STEVENSON 

philosophy  of  life,  without  which  she  coiild  not  have 
borne,  much  less  shared  with  a  relish  equal  to  his 
own,  his  wandering,  unsettled  life,  his  vagaries,  his 
gipsy  passion  for  freedom.  She  had  a  really  creative 
imagination,  which  she  expressed  in  living.  She 
always  lived  with  great  intensity,  had  come  more 
into  contact  with  the  real  world  than  Stevenson  had 
done  at  tlie  time  when  they  met,  had  tried  more 
kinds  of  life,  known  more  kinds  of  people.  When  he 
married  her,  he  married  a  woman  rich  in  knowledge 
of  life  and  the  world. 

"She  had  the  kind  of  pluck  that  Stevenson  particu- 
larly admired.  He  was  best  when  he  was  at  sea,  and 
although  Mrs.  Stevenson  was  a  poor  sailor  and  often 
suffered  greatly  from  seasickness,  she  accompanied 
him  on  all  his  wanderings  in  the  South  Seas  and  on 
rougher  waters,  with  the  greatest  spirit.  A  woman 
who  was  rigid  in  small  matters  of  domestic  economy, 
who  insisted  on  a  planned  and  ordered  life,  would 
have  worried  Stevenson  terribly. 

"A  sick  man  of  letters  never  married  into  a  family 
so  well  fitted  to  help  him  make  the  most  of  his  powers. 
Mrs.  Stevenson  and  both  of  her  children  were  gifted; 
the  whole  family  could  write.  When  Stevenson  was 
ill,  one  of  them  could  always  lend  a  hand  and  help 
him  out.  Without  such  an  amanuensis  as  Mrs. 
Strong,*  Mrs.  Stevenson's  daughter,  he  could  not 
have  got  through  anything  like  the  amount  of  work 
he  turned  off.  Whenever  he  had  a  new  idea  for  a 
story,  it  met,  at  his  own  fireside,  with  the  immediate 
recognition,  appreciation,  and  enthusiasm  so  neces- 

*  Now  Mrs.  Salisbury  Field. 


LAST  DAYS  AT  SANTA  BARBARA     315 

sary  to  an  artist,  and  whicli  he  so  seldom  finds  among 
Lis  own  blood  or  in  his  own  family. 

"After  Stevenson  disappeared  in  the  South  Seas, 
many  of  us  had  a  new  feeling  about  that  part  of  the 
world.  I  remember  that  on  my  next  trip  to  Cali- 
fornia I  looked  at  the  Pacific  with  new  eyes;  there 
was  a  glamour  of  romance  over  it.  I  always  intended 
to  go  to  Samoa  to  visit  him ;  it  was  one  of  those  splen- 
did adventures  that  one  might  have  had  and  did  not. 

"One  afternoon  in  August,  1896,  I  went  with  Sid- 
ney Colvin  and  Mrs.  Sitwell  (now  Lady  Colvin)  to 
Paddington  Station  to  meet  Mrs.  Stevenson,  when, 
after  Stevenson's  death  she  at  last  returned  to  Europe 
after  her  world-wide  wanderings — after  nine  years  of 
exile.  When  she  alighted  from  the  boat  train  I  felt 
Stevenson's  death  as  if  it  had  happened  only  the  day 
before,  and  I  have  no  doubt  that  she  did.  As  she 
came  up  the  platform  in  black,  with  so  much  that 
was  strange  and  wonderful  behind  her,  his  companion 
of  so  many  years,  through  uncharted  seas  and  distant 
lands,  I  could  only  say  to  myself:  'Hector's  Andro- 
mache!'"* 

She  had  one  of  those  unusual  personalities  that 
attract  other  women  as  well  as  men,  and  one  of  them. 
Lady  Balfour,  writes  of  her  from  the  point  of  view 
of  her  own  sex: 

"When  Mrs.  Stevenson  heard  of  my  engagement 
to  Graham  Balfour  she  wrote  me  the  kindest  and 
tenderest  of  letters,  telling  me  not  to  have  any  fears 
in  the  new  path  that  lay  before  me.  She  added:  *I 
who  tell  you  so  have  trodden  it  from  end  to  end.' 

*  Quoted  from  McClures  Magazine. 


316     LIFE  OF  MRS.   R.   L.   STEVENSON 

This  sympathy  meant  much  to  me,  for  it  could  only 
have  come  from  such  a  generous  heart  as  hers.  She 
had  hoped  that  Palema*  would  continue  to  make  his 
home  with  them,  and  she  had  great  confidence  in 
and  love  for  him.  He  would  have  been  a  link  be- 
tween her  and  the  old  associations  of  the  Vailima 
life,  and  his  engagement  to  an  English  girl  proved 
to  her  that  this  would  no  longer  be  possible.  Yet 
where  a  less  fine  nature  would  have  contented  itself 
with  the  mere  formal  congratulations  as  all  that 
could  be  possible  under  the  circumstances,  she  gave 
generous  sympathy  to  a  stranger,  who  caused  her 
fresh  loss,  from  her  generous  'steel-true'  heart. 

"I  had  been  married  about  two  years  when  Mrs. 
Stevenson  came  to  England  in  1898,  and  we  were 
living  at  Oxford.  I  was  naturally  a  little  nervous  as 
to  my  first  introduction  to  her.  My  husband  wanted 
to  take  me  up  to  London  to  see  her,  but  I  asked  to 
go  alone,  feeling  somehow  that  it  would  be  easier. 
To  this  day  I  remember  the  trepidation  with  which 
I  followed  the  parlor  maid  upstairs  in  Oxford  Terrace, 
and  was  ushered  into  the  room  where  a  lady  of  infinite 
dignity  was  lying  on  a  sofa.  It  seems  to  me  now 
that  after  one  steady  look  from  those  searching  'eyes 
of  gold  and  bramble  dew*  (which  had  rather  the 
effect  of  a  sort  of  spiritual  X-ray),  I  lost  my  feeling 
of  being  on  approval,  and  in  ten  minutes  I  wag  sit- 
ting on  the  floor  beside  the  sofa,  pouring  out  my 
own  past  history  in  remarkable  detail,  and  feeling  as 
if  I  had  known  Tamaitai  for  years. 

"In  the  following  summer,  1899,  she  came  to  stay 

*  Sir  Graham  Balfour's  Sainoan  name. 


LAST  DAYS  AT  SANTA   BARBARA     317 

with  us  at  Oxford,  to  give  Paleina  all  the  help  she 
could  about  the  life  of  Robert  Louis  Stevenson  he 
had  just  undertaken  at  her  urgent  request.  Inciden- 
tally, she  was  to  be  introduced  to  her  godson,  our 
eldest  boy  Gilbert,  who  was  then  about  six  months 
old.  She  gave  liim  a  christening  present  of  a  silver 
bowl  for  his  bread  and  milk,  upon  a  silver  saucer 
which  could  be  reversed  and  used  also  as  a  cover. 
On  the  covering  side  were  the  words  from  the  Child's 
Garden : 

*It  is  very  nice  to  tliink 
The  world  is  full  of  meat  and  drink 
With  little  children  sajnng  grace 
In  every  Christian  kind  of  place.' 

"When  the  cover  was  taken  off  and  used  as  a  saucer 
it  had  on  its  concave  side: 

*A  child  should  always  say  what's  true 
And  speak  when  he  is  spoken  to. 
And  behave  mannerly  at  table. 
At  least  as  far  as  he  is  able.' 

"Tamaitai  had  had  a  very  critical  operation  dur- 
ing the  previous  autumn,  and  was  still  comparatively 
invalided  with  the  effects  of  it.  She  spoke  enthusi- 
astically of  Sir  Frederick  Treves,  who  had  performed 
it  and  had  refused  any  fee,  saying  he  counted  it  a 
privilege  to  attend  her.  I  have  a  clear  picture  of 
her  in  my  mind,  lying  on  the  sofa  in  our  drawing- 
room.  The  door  opened  and  the  nurse  carried  m 
the  baby,  barefooted.  *Ah,'  she  said  to  him,  'who's 
this  coming  in  hanging  out  ten  pink  rosebuds  at  the 


318     LIFE  OF  MRS.  R.  L.  STEVENSON 

tail  of  his  frock?*  And  the  Httle  pink  toes  justified 
a  description  that  only  she  would  have  so  worded. 

"We  drove  her  round  to  a  few  of  the  most  beau- 
tiful and  characteristic  of  the  Oxford  colleges.  She 
was  easily  fatigued,  but  she  delighted  in  what  she 
saw.  I  remember  admiring  her  pretty  feet,  clad  in 
quite  inadequate  but  most  dainty  black  satin  shoes, 
with  very  high  heels,  and  fine  silk  stockings.  When 
I  put  my  admiration  into  words  she  just  smiled  upon 
me  delightfully  but  said  nothing. 

"One  evening  we  talked  desultorily  about  the 
'criminal  instinct.'  *Well,'  I  said  at  last,  *  there's 
one  thing  certain,  I  should  never  commit  a  murder. 
I  shouldn't  have  the  courage  when  it  came  to  the 
point!'  'Oh,'  said  she,  'I  could  murder  a  person  if 
I  hated  him  enough  for  anything  he  had  done,  but 
I  should  have  to  call  upon  him  in  the  morning  and 
tell  him  I  was  going  to  murder  him  at  five  o'clock.' 

"We  dined  out  with  some  Oxford  friends,  among 
whom  was  a  tall  Scotch  professor  who  was  a  brilliant 
and  quick  talker.  Tamaitai  took  no  part  in  the 
rapid  thrust  and  parry  of  the  talk,  but  sat  silently 
looking  from  one  to  another  with  her  great  dark  eyes. 
Their  comment  on  her  long  afterwards  was  that  she 
was  the  most  inscrutable  person  they  had  ever  met. 
As  we  drove  home  after  the  party  I  asked  Tamaitai: 
*  What  did  you  think  of  the  talk  ? '  There  was  a  brief 
silence — then:  'I  didn't  understand  a  single  word  of 
it,  they  talked  so  fast,'  said  she  frankly. 

"I  don't  think  I  ever  knew  a  woman  who  was  a 
more  perfect  'gentleman.'  Scorning  all  that  was  not 
direct,  and  true,  and  simple,  she  herself  hated  dis- 


LAST  DAYS  AT  SANTA  BARBARA     319 

guise  or  casuistry  in  any  form.  Her  eyes  looked 
through  your  soul  and  out  at  the  other  side,  but  you 
never  felt  that  her  judgment,  whatever  it  was,  would 
be  harsh.  She  was  curiously  detached,  and  yet  you 
always  wanted  her  sympathy,  and  if  she  loved  you 
it  never  failed  you.  She  was  a  strong  partisan,  which 
was  perhaps  the  most  feminine  part  of  her  character. 
She  was  wholly  un-English,  but  she  made  allowances 
for  every  English  tradition.  My  English  maids  loved 
her  without  understanding  her  in  the  least.  I  never 
knew  any  one  that  had  such  a  way  as  she  had  of 
turning  your  httle  vagaries  and  habits  and  fads  to 
your  notice  with  their  funny  side  out,  so  that  all  the 
time  you  were  subtly  flattered  and  secretly  delighted.'* 

I  wish  I  had  the  power  to  describe  that  mysterious 
charm  which  drew  to  her  so  many  and  such  various 
people — the  high  and  the  low  in  far-scattered  places 
of  the  earth — but  it  was  too  elusive  to  put  in  words. 
Perhaps  a  large  part  of  it  lay  in  her  clear  simplicity, 
her  utter  lack  of  pretence  or  pose.  I  remember  read- 
ing once  in  a  San  Francisco  newspaper  a  comment  by 
a  writer  who  seemed  to  touch  nearly  upon  the  heart 
of  the  secret.     The  paragraph  runs  thus: 

"Once  a  man  told  me  that  Mrs.  Robert  Louis  Ste- 
venson was  the  one  woman  in  the  world  he  could 
imagine  a  man  being  willing  to  die  for.  Every  man 
I  asked — every  single  man,  rich  and  poor,  young  or 
old,  clever  or  stupid — all  agreed  about  Mrs.  Steven- 
son, that  she  was  the  most  fascinating  woman  he  had 
ever  seen.  It  was  some  years  ago  that  I  saw  her,  but 
I  would  know  her  again  if  I  saw  her  between  flashes 
of  lightning  in  a  stormy  sea.     Individuality — that 


320     LIFE  OF  MRS.  R.   L.  STEVENSON 

was  her  charm.  She  knew  it  and  she  had  sense 
enough  to  be  herself.  Individuality  and  simple  un- 
affected honesty  of  speech  and  action  and  look  are 
the  most  potent  charms  and  the  most  lasting  that 
any  woman  can  ever  hope  to  have." 

Her  broad  sympathies,  too,  had  much  to  do  with 
it.  If  there  is  any  word  in  the  English  language  that 
means  the  opposite  of  snob,  it  may  certainly  be 
applied  to  her.  She  picked  out  her  friends  for  the 
simple  and  sufficient  reason  that  she  liked  them,  and 
they  might  and  did  include  a  duchess,  a  Chinese,  a 
great  English  playwright,  a  French  fisherman,  a 
saloon-keeper  who  was  once  shipwrecked  with  her,  a 
noted  actor — and  so  on  through  a  long  and  varied 
list.  Once  in  Sydney  when  she  was  out  walking 
with  her  daughter,  both  richly  dressed,  she  stopped 
suddenly  to  shake  hands  with  a  group  of  black-avised 
pirates  (to  all  appearances)  with  rings  in  their  ears. 
She  had  met  them  somewhere  among  the  islands, 
and  her  little  white-gloved  hand  grasped  their  big 
brown  ones  with  genuine  and  affectionate  friendship. 
Wide  apart  as  she  and  her  husband  were  in  many 
things,  in  their  utter  lack  of  snobbery  they  were  as 
one.  Once  they  were  at  a  French  watering-place 
when  from  their  room  up-stairs  they  heard  a  loud 
uproar  below.  A  voice  cried:  "I  will  see  my  Louis !" 
Going  out  to  see  what  the  trouble  was,  Louis  found 
four  French  fishermen  in  a  char-d,-hancs — all  in  peas- 
ant blouses.  The  major-domo  of  the  fashionable 
hotel  was  trying  to  keep  them  out,  but  when  Louis 
appeared  he  called  out  their  names  joyfully,  and 
they  all  cried:  "Mon  cher  Louis!"     After  each  had 


LAST  DAYS  AT  SANTA  BARBARA     321 

embraced  him,  he  asked  them  up  to  his  rooms,  and, 
despite  the  ill-concealed  scorn  of  the  waiter,  ordered 
\ip  a  grand  dinner  for  them.  They  were  the  French 
fishermen  he  had  known  at  Monterey,  California, 
and  one  may  be  sure  that  they  met  with  as  cordial 
a  welcome  from  his  wife  as  from  himself.  I  know 
that  in  one  of  her  letters  she  urges  him  not  to  forget 
to  write  to  Francois  the  baker,  at  Monterey,  saying: 
■"It  seems  to  me  much  more  necessary  to  write  some 
word  to  him  than  to  Sir  Walter,  or  Baxter,  or  Hen- 
ley, for  they  are  your  friends  who  know  you  and  will 
not  be  disappointed,  either  in  a  pleasure  or  in  human- 
ity, as  this  poor  baker  will  be.  Indeed  you  must 
write  and  say  something  to  him." 

As  has  been  said,  her  dislike  of  deceit  and  treachery 
was  one  of  the  most  strongly  marked  traits  in  her 
character.  Once  when  she  had  reason  to  fear  that 
a  person  whom  she  was  befriending  was  deceiving 
her,  and  she  was  told  that  a  simple  inquiry  would 
settle  the  matter,  she  replied:  "But  I  couldn't  bear 
to  find  out  that  he  is  lying  to  me." 

Her  charities  were  many,  but  they  were  always  of 
the  quiet,  unobtrusive  sort,  of  which  few  heard  ex- 
cept those  most  nearly  concerned.  For  instance, 
when  she  heard  of  a  poor  woman  in  her  neighbourhood 
whose  life  could  only  be  saved  by  an  expensive  opera- 
tion, she  paid  to  have  it  done.  Her  life  was  full  of 
such  acts,  and  there  are  many,  many  people  who 
have  good  reason  to  be  grateful  to  her  memory. 

But  when  all  is  said,  it  has  always  seemed  to  me 
that  the  bright  star  of  her  character,  shining  above 
all  other  traits,  was  her  loyalty — that  staunch  fidelity 


322     LIFE  OF  MRS.  R.  L.  STEVENSON 

that  made  her  cling,  through  thick  and  thin,  through 
good  or  evil  report,  to  those  whom  she  loved.  But 
as  she  loved,  so  she  hated,  and  as  she  endowed  her 
friends  with  all  the  virtues,  so  she  could  see  no  good 
at  all  in  an  enemy.  Yet,  just  when  you  thought  you 
were  beginning  to  understand  her  nature — with  its 
love  and  hate  of  the  primal  woman — her  anger  would 
suddenly  soften,  not  into  tenderness,  but  into  a  sort 
of  dispassionate  wisdom,  and  she  would  quote  her 
favourite  saying:  *'To  know  all  is  to  forgive  all." 

That  she  had  infinite  tenderness  for  the  feelings  of 
others,  living  or  dead,  she  proved  every  day.  In  a 
letter  to  Mr.  Scribner  asking  advice  about  the  pub- 
lication in  London  of  certain  letters  of  her  husbands- 
she  says; 

"Some  of  the  letters  that  are  intended  to  go  into  the 
book  should  not,  in  my  judgment,  appear  at  all. 
When  my  husband  was  a  boy  in  his  late  'teens'  and 
early  twenties  he  and  his  father — a  rigid  old  Calvinist 
— quarrelled  on  the  subject  of  religion.  Louis  being 
young  enough  to  like  the  melodrama,  it  took  on  an 
undue  importance,  out  of  all  keeping  with  the  real 
facts.  During  this  turbulent  period  Louis  poured  out 
his  soul  in  letters,  the  publication  of  many  of  which 
would  give  a  false  impression  of  the  relations  between 
the  son  and  the  father.  Louis  was  twenty-five  when 
I  first  met  him,  and  the  period  of  the  religious  discus- 
sion was  long  past.  Mr.  Thomas  Stevenson  loved 
me  and  was  as  kind  to  me  as  though  I  were  his  own 
daughter.  I  cannot,  for  the  sake  of  an  extra  volume 
that  would  produce  a  certain  amount  of  money,  do 
anytliing  that  in  my  heart  would  seem  disloyal  to 


LAST  DAYS  AT  SANTA   BARBARA     323 

the  dear  old  man's  memory — all  the  more  because  he 
is  dead." 

In  her  character  there  were  many  strange  contra- 
dictions, and  I  think  sometimes  this  was  a  part  of 
her  attraction,  for  even  after  knowing  her  for  years 
one  could  always  count  on  some  surprise,  some  un- 
expected contrast  which  went  far  in  making  up  her 
fascinating  personality.  Notwithstanding  the  broad 
view  that  she  took  of  life  in  most  of  its  aspects,  in 
some  things  she  was  old-fashioned.  She  was  never 
reconciled,  for  instance,  to  female  suffrage,  and  once 
when  she  was  persuaded  to  attend  a  political  meeting 
at  which  her  daughter  was  one  of  the  speakers,  she 
sat  looking  on  with  mingled  pride  in  her  daughter's 
eloquence  and  horror  at  her  sentiments.  Yet,  after 
the  suffrage  was  granted  to  women  in  California,  her 
family  was  amused  to  see  her  go  to  the  polls  and  vote 
and  carefully  advise  the  men  employed  on  her  place 
concerning  their  ballots. 

Some  persons  were  repelled  by  what  they  consid- 
ered Mrs.  Stevenson's  cold  and  distant  manner,  but 
they  were  not  aware  of  what  it  took  her  own  family 
a  long  time  to  discover — that  this  apparent  detach- 
ment and  sphinxlikc  immobility  covered  a  real  and 
childlike  shyness;  yet  it  was  never  apathy,  but  the 
stillness  of  a  frightened  wild  creature  that  has  never 
been  tamed.  Though  she  said  so  little,  she  never 
failed  to  create  an  impression.  Some  one  once  said 
of  her  that  her  silence  was  more  fascinating  than  the 
most  brilliant  conversation  of  other  women,  and,  in- 
deed, "Where  Macgregor  sits  is  the  head  of  the  table" 
applied  very  aptly  to  her.     Her  manner  had  nothing 


324     LIFE   OF  MRS.   R.   L.   STEVENSON 

of  the  aggressive  self-confidence  of  the  "capable 
woman."  She  seemed  so  essentially  feminine,  low- 
voiced,  quiet,  even  helplessly  appealing,  that  it  was 
difficult  to  realize  that  she  was  a  fair  shot,  a  fearless 
horsewoman,  a  first-rate  cook,  an  expert  seamstress, 
a  really  scientific  gardener,  a  most  skillful  nurse,  and 
had,  besides,  some  working  acquaintance  with  many 
trades  and  professions  upon  which  she  could  draw  in 
an  emergency. 

Her  physical  courage  was  remarkable;  she  would 
get  on  any  horse,  jump  into  a  boat  in  any  sea,  face  a 
burglar — do  anything,  in  fact,  that  circumstances 
seemed  to  require.  But  perhaps  her  moral  courage, 
that  which  gave  her  strength  to  face  great  crises — as 
when  Louis  was  near  death — mth  a  smile  on  her  face, 
was  even  greater.  This  I  know  came  to  her  as  a 
direct  inheritance  from  our  mother,  Esther  Van  de 
Grift,  who  was  never  known  to  give  way  under  the 
stress  of  great  need. 

In  her  fondness  for  animals  she  reminds  one  of  her 
maternal  ancestress,  Elizabeth  Knodle,  who  used  to 
rush  out  and  seize  horses  by  the  bridle  when  she 
thought  they  were  being  driven  too  fast  by  their 
cruel  drivers.  Nothing  would  more  surely  arouse 
her  anger  than  the  sight  of  any  unkindness  to  one  of 
these  "httle  brothers."  Once  at  Vailima  a  gentle- 
man, who  ought  to  have  known  better,  came  riding 
up  on  a  horse  that  showed  signs  of  being  in  pain. 
"That  horse  has  a  sore  back,"  she  cried.  The  rider 
angrily  denied  it,  but  she  insisted  on  his  dismounting, 
and  when  the  saddle  was  removed  found  that  her 
suspicions  were  but  too  well  founded.     She  compelled 


LAST  DAYS  AT  SANTA  BARBARA     325 

him  to  leave  the  suffering  creature  in  her  care  until 
its  back  was  entirely  cured. 

I  have  been  surprised  sometimes  to  hear  people 
speak  of  her  as  "bohemian."  Simplicity  and  genu- 
ineness were  the  foundation-stones  of  her  character, 
and  she  certainly  dispensed  with  many  of  the  useless 
conventions  of  society,  but  she  was  a  serious-minded 
woman  for  whom  the  cheap  affectations  generally 
labelled  as  "  bohemianism  "  could  have  no  attractions. 

She  was  entirely  feminine  in  her  love  of  pretty 
clothes.  In  choosing  her  own  attire,  though  she  fol- 
lowed the  fashions  and  never  tried  to  be  extravagant 
or  outrS,  she  had  a  discriminating  taste  that  made 
her  always  seem  to  be  dressed  more  attractively  than 
other  people.  All  who  think  of  her,  even  in  her  last 
days,  must  have  a  picture  in  their  minds  of  the 
dainty,  lacy,  silken  prettiness  in  which  she  sat  en- 
shrined. 

She  was  pretty  as  a  young  woman,  but  as  she  grew 
older  she  was  beautiful — with  that  rare  type  of  beauty 
that  "age  cannot  wither  nor  custom  stale."  With 
her  clear-cut  profile,  like  an  exquisite  cameo,  color 
like  old  ivory,  delicate  oval  face,  eyes  dark,  vivid,  and 
youthful,  her  appearance  was  most  unusual.  Louis 
used  to  say  of  her  eyes  that  her  glance  was  like  that 
of  one  aiming  a  pistol — direct,  steady,  and  to  some 
persons  rather  alarming.  Her  voice,  as  I  think  I  have 
said  somewhere  else  in  these  pages,  was  low,  with  few 
inflections,  and  was  compared  by  her  husband  to  the 
murmur  of  a  brook  running  under  ice.  The  poet 
Gosse  said  of  her:  "She  is  dark  and  rich-hearted,  like 
some  v/onderful  wine-red  jewel." 


326     LIFE   OF  MRS.   R.   L.   STEVENSON 

For  years  she  had  worn  her  hair  short,  not  in  the 
fashion  of  a  strong-minded  female,  but  in  a  frame  of 
soft  grey  curls  which  was  exceedingly  becoming  to 
her  face. 

Everywhere  she  went  her  appearance  attracted 
attention.  One  evening  at  Santa  Barbara  when 
David  Bispham  was  giving  a  concert,  she  sat  in  a 
box  at  the  theatre,  wearing  a  bandeau  of  pearls  and 
diamonds  round  her  head  and  a  collar  and  necklace 
of  the  same.  Leaning  over  the  edge  of  the  box, 
deeply  interested  in  the  singing,  she  didn't  realize 
the  impression  she  was  making  or  the  fact  that  Bis- 
pham was  singing  "Oh,  the  pretty,  pretty  creature" 
directly  at  her  box.  Suddenly  she  became  aware  of 
his  compliment,  gave  a  startled,  embarrassed  look  at 
the  audience,  and  retired  behind  her  big  ostrich- 
feather  fan.  People  often  turned  to  look  at  her  in 
the  street,  and  at  such  times  she  would  say  to  her 
companions:  "Is  there  anything  wrong  with  my  hat? 
The  people  all  seem  to  be  smiling  at  me."  They 
were,  but  it  was  with  surprised  admiration.  Sales- 
women and  shop-girls  adored  her,  and  at  all  the  shops 
they  vied  with  each  other  in  waiting  on  her.  On  the 
way  home  she  would  say,  with  naive  surprise:  "How 
nice  all  those  young  women  were !  There  were  five 
of  them  all  waiting  on  me  at  once." 

One  of  her  vanities  was  her  small  feet,  on  which 
she  always  wore  the  daintiest  of  shoes,  often  totally 
unsuited  to  the  occasion.  Whenever  I  looked  at  her 
feet  I  was  reminded  of  our  maternal  grandmother, 
sweet  Kitty  Weaver,  and  how  she  caught  her  death 
going  to  a  ball  in  the  red  satin  slippers. 

Her  beauty  was  of  the  elusive  type  that  is  the 


LAST  DAYS  AT  SANTA  BARBARA     327 

despair  of  artists,  and  of  all  the  portraits  painted  of 
her  none  seemed  to  me  to  represent  her  true  self.  I 
quote  from  The  Craftsman  of  May,  1912,  a  reference 
to  a  reproduction  of  the  portrait  painted  of  her  by 
Mrs.  Will  Low: 

"We  are  sure  that  our  readers  the  world  over  will 
enjoy  the  opportunity  of  this  glimpse  of  Mrs.  Steven- 
son, however  the  limitations  imposed  by  black  and 
white  may  prevent  a  full  realization  of  the  great 
charm  of  this  unusual  woman,  whose  personality  is 
so  magnetic,  so  serene  in  its  poise,  so  richly  intellec- 
tual, that  those  who  have  had  the  opportunity  of 
knowing  her  always  remember  her  as  one  of  the  most 
interesting  and  beautiful  among  women." 

She  kept  her  spirit  young  to  the  last,  so  that  no 
one  could  ever  think  of  her  as  an  old  woman,  and 
young  people  always  enjoyed  her  company. 

As  to  her  literary  accomplishments,  had  she  chosen 
to  devote  her  time  and  strength  to  the  development 
of  her  own  talents,  instead  of  using  them,  as  has  been 
the  wont  of  women  since  the  world  began,  in  the  sup- 
port and  encouragement  of  others,  there  is  no  saying 
how  far  she  might  have  gone,  for  she  had  an  active, 
creative  imagination,  and  a  discriminating,  critical 
judgment  of  style.  As  it  was,  her  writings  were  not 
extensive,  and  were  almost  all  produced  under  the 
spur  of  some  particular  need.     They  consist  of: 

Several  fairy  stories  published  years  ago  in  Our 
Young  Folks  and  St.  Nicholas,  magazines  for  young 
people. 

The  Dynamiter,  written  in  collaboration  with  her 
husband. 

Introductions  to  her  husband's  works. 


328     LIFE  OF  MRS.   R.   L.   STEVENSON 

A  number  of  short  stories  in  Scribner^s  and  Jfc-= 
Clure's  magazines,  among  which  "Anne"  and  "The 
Half -White"  attracted  the  most  attention. 

Tlie  Cruise  of  the  Janet  Nichd,  a  posthumous  work. 

Her  own  estimate  of  her  talents  and  achievements 
was  extremely  modest,  and  it  was  always  with  the 
greatest  reluctance  that  she  put  pen  to  paper.  Yet 
she  was  intensely  proud  of  the  work  of  any  member 
of  her  family — whether  it  might  be  sister,  daughter, 
son,  nephew,  or  grandson — and  seemed  to  get  more 
happiness  out  of  anything  we  did  than  from  her  own 
work. 

She  was  appalled  at  the  great  flood  of  mediocre 
writing  that  has  been  pouring  over  the  United  States 
in  the  last  decade  or  two,  and  speaks  of  it  thus  in  a 
letter  written  to  Mr.  Scribner  from  her  quiet  haven 
at  Sausal : 

"If  I  had  a  magazine  of  my  own  I  should  bar  from 
its  pages  any  story  in  which  a  young  woman  urges  a 
young  man  to  *do  things'  when  he  doesn't  have  to. 
There  would  also  be  a  list  of  words  and  phrases  that 
I  would  not  have  within  my  covers.  But,  if  I  had  a 
magazine  what  would  become  of  my  peace  and  quiet 
that  I  care  so  much  for.?  No — no  such  strenuous 
life  for  me !  They  may  call  houses  'homes'  and  spell 
words  so  that  children  and  foreigners  must  be  unable 
to  find  out  how  to  pronounce  them — ^I  need  not  know 
of  such  annoyances  in  El  Sausal  unless  I  choose.  I 
have  before  me  a  great  pile  of  magazines — hence 
these  cries.  I  read  them  with  wonder  and  interest. 
There  seems  to  be  such  an  extraordinary  quantity  of 
clever,    talented,    ignorant,    unliterary   literature   let 


LAST  DAYS  AT  SANTA  BARBARA     329 

loose  in  them.  Where  does  it  all  come  from?  And 
why  isn't  it  better  done — or  worse  done?  I  suppose 
we  might  call  it  'near  literature.'  Sometimes,  indeed, 
it  is  very  near.  I  suppose  it  is  the  pubhc  school  sys- 
tem that  is  accountable.  Well,  I  never  believed  in 
general  education,  and  here's  a  justification  of  my 
attitude." 

When  one  casts  a  backward  glance  over  the  life  of 
Fanny  Van  de  Grift  Stevenson,  it  cannot  be  said  that 
she  knew  much  of  that  for  which  she  had  always 
longed — peace.  Her  girlhood  was  cut  short  by  a 
too  early  marriage.  Her  first  romance  was  soon 
wrecked,  and  her  second  was  constantly  overshad- 
owed by  fear  for  the  loved  one.  Storm  and  stress, 
varied  by  some  peaceful  intervals,  filled  the  larger 
portion  of  her  days,  and  at  their  end  it  was  in  storm 
and  flood  that  her  spirit  took  its  flight.  But  it  was 
a  full,  rich  life,  and  had  she  had  the  choosing,  I  believe 
she  would  have  elected  no  other. 

After  something  more  than  a  year  had  elapsed 
from  the  time  of  her  death,  Mrs.  Stevenson's  daughter, 
who  had  now  become  the  wife  of  Mr.  Field,  sailed 
with  her  husband  in  the  spring  of  1915  for  Samoa, 
bearing  witli  them  the  sacred  ashes  to  be  placed 
within  the  tomb  on  Mount  Vaea. 

Early  in  the  war  the  New  Zealand  Expeditionary 
Forces  had  taken  possession  of  German  Samoa,  so 
that  when  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Field  arrived  they  found  the 
Union  Jack  flying  over  Vailima,  now  used  as  Govern- 
ment House  by  the  Administrator,  Colonel  Logan, 
and  his  staff.     The  natives,  interested  spectators  of 


330     LIFE  OF  MRS.  R.  L.   STEVENSON 

these  stirring  events,  remarked  among  themselves 
that  Tusitala,  not  going  back  to  his  own  country, 
had  drawn  his  country  out  to  him. 

Two  friends  of  the  old  Vailima  days  were  a  great 
help  in  making  the  arrangements  for  the  funeral — 
Amatua,  often  referred  to  in  the  Stevenson  letters  as 
Sitione,  now  a  serious  elderly  chief,  and  Laulii,  a 
charming  Samoan  lady  of  rank,  and  a  warm  and 
attached  friend  of  the  Stevenson  family.  Of  the 
Vailima  household  time  and  wars  had  eliminated  all 
but  the  youngest — Mitaele,  who  looked  much  the 
same  in  spite  of  grey  hair  and  a  family  of  nine  children. 

It  was  Amatua  who  saw  to  it  that  those  who  re- 
mained of  the  builders  of  the  "Road  of  the  Loving 
Hearts"  and  the  chiefs  who  had  cut  the  path  up  the 
mountain  for  Tusitala's  funeral  were  included  in  the 
list  of  guests,  and  it  was  he  who  took  personal  charge 
of  all  the  arrangements  for  the  native  ceremonies, 
which  were  conducted  in  the  elaborate  Samoan 
fashion  as  for  a  chief  of  the  highest  rank. 

Colonel  and  Mrs.  Logan  very  graciously  invited 
the  Fields  to  Vailima  and  placed  the  house  and 
grounds  at  their  disposal. 

"It  is  strange,"  wrote  Mrs.  Field,  "being  here  at 
Vailima.  I  was  so  afraid  to  come,  but  mercifully  it 
is  not  the  same.  Rooms  have  been  added,  the  pol- 
ished redwood  panels  in  the  large  hall  are  painted 
over  in  white;  the  lawn  where  the  tennis  courts  were 
is  cut  up  into  flower  beds;  many  of  the  great  trees 
have  gone;  and  the  atmosphere  of  the  place  has 
changed  so  utterly  that  I  have  to  say  to  myself  'This 
is  Vailima'  to  believe  that  I  am  here  after  so  many 


LAST  DAYS  AT  SANTA  BARBARA     331 

years.  Mrs.  Logan  and  the  Governor  came  out  to 
meet  us  when  we  arrived,  and  as  we  turned  into  the 
road  and  I  saw  the  house  for  the  first  time  it  was  the 
Union  Jack  flying  from  the  flag-staff  that  affected 
me  most.  I  felt  hke  a  person  in  a  dream  as  we  walked 
over  the  house — the  same  and  yet  changed  out  of  all 
recognition.  We  had  tea,  and  then  in  the  soft  sunset 
we  went  down  to  the  waterfall,  no  longer  a  fairy  dell 
of  loveliness  but  improved  with  a  dam,  cement  floor- 
ing, and  a  row  of  neat  bathrooms.  In  the  evening 
we  sat  on  the  upper  veranda  looking  out  over  the 
moonlit  tree- tops;  the  scene  was  very  beautiful,  with 
the  view  of  the  sea  and  Vaea  mountain  so  green  and 
so  close.  *Here  we  wrote  St.  Ives  and  HeTmiston,*  I 
tell  myself,  but  I  don't  believe  it." 

It  had  been  their  intention  to  have  their  old  mis- 
sionary friend.  Dr.  Brown,  conduct  the  services,  but 
at  the  last  moment  word  was  brought  that  he  was 
detained  on  one  of  the  other  islands  by  storms. 
For  a  time  they  were  much  troubled,  but  at  last 
Colonel  Logan  lifted  a  load  off  their  hearts  by  offer- 
ing to  read  the  Church  of  England  service  himself. 

The  day  before  that  set  for  the  funeral,  June  22,  it 
blew  and  rained,  and  there  was  much  anxious  fore- 
boding about  the  weather.  In  the  night,  however, 
the  wind  blew  away  the  clouds  and  rain,  and  morning 
broke,  still,  sunny,  but  cool — a  perfect  day. 

The  small  bronze  case  containing  the  ashes,  wrapped 
in  a  fine  mat,  had  been  laid  on  a  table  in  one  of  the 
rooms  that  had  wide  doors  opening  on  the  veranda. 
The  guests  began  to  arrive  early,  in  Samoan  fashion, 
bringing  flowers  and  wreaths,  and  soon  the  table  was 


332     LIFE  OF  MRS.  R.   L.   STEVENSON 

a  mass  of  lovely  blooms — all  colours,  for  the  Samoans 
do  not  adhere  to  white  for  funerals.  The  high  chief 
Tamasese,  with  his  wife  Vaaiga,  both  wearing  mourn- 
ing bands  on  their  arms,  were  the  first  to  arrive. 
Then  came  Malietoa  Tanu,  who  was  a  prominent 
figure  in  the  war  in  whicli  the  United  States  and  Eng- 
land joined  to  fight  against  Samoa.  Following  them 
came  a  long  concourse  of  the  old  friends  of  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Stevenson — natives,  half-castes,  and  whites,  and 
last  of  all,  in  a  little  carriage,  three  sweet  sisters  from 
the  Sacred  Heart  Convent.  The  sisters  could  not 
stay  for  the  ceremony  on  the  hill,  but  begged  to  be 
allowed  to  say  a  little  prayer,  and  the  three  knelt 
before  the  table  and  said  an  ave  for  one  who  had 
always  been  their  friend. 

At  nine  o'clock  they  started  on  the  steep  climb  up 
the  mountain,  the  path  having  been  cleared  the  day 
before  by  men  sent  up  through  the  thoughtful  kind- 
ness of  the  Administrator.  Mr.  Field  led  the  way 
with  the  casket  wrapped  in  a  fine  mat,  then  came 
Mrs.  Field  and  Laulii,  each  carrying  one  of  the  mats 
used  in  Samoan  funeral  ceremonies,  these  being  the 
same  that  had  been  carried  at  IVIr.  Stevenson's  burial. 

After  them  came  Colonel  Logan  and  the  two  high 
chiefs,  Tamasese  and  Malietoa,  followed  by  all  the 
other  guests,  including  forty  chiefs  of  the  Tuamasaga. 
The  procession,  very  picturesque  in  white  clothing 
and  wreaths  of  flowers,  wound  slowly  up  the  moun- 
tainside in  a  zigzag  path  imder  the  forest  trees. 
Overhead  the  branches  met  in  a  leafy  roof,  and  on 
each  side  of  the  narrow  path  the  jungle  closed  in, 
thick,    lush,    and   green.     The   lianas   looped    across 


The  funeral  procession  as  it  woinid  up  tin-  liill 


LAST  DAYS  AT  SANTA  BARBARA     333 

from  bough  to  bough,  huge  birds'  nest  ferns  lay  tucked 
in  the  branches,  on  all  sides  big-leaved  plants,  fronds 
of  ferns,  and  tangled  creepCTS  crowded  each  other  for 
space,  and  through  all  the  mass  of  wild  tropic  growth 
the  hot  sunlight  filtered  in  splashes  of  bright  green. 

WTien,  after  many  breathless  pauses,  the  top  was 
at  last  reached,  the  case  was  laid  on  the  base  of  the 
tomb  and  covered  with  fine  mats,  with  flowers  all 
about  it.  Among  them  were  the  Japanese  imitation 
cherry-blossoms  sent  by  Yonida  and  Fuzisaki,  the 
gardeners  at  Stonehedge.  The  company  then  gath- 
ered around  the  tomb  in  a  semicircle,  and  Colonel 
JjOgan  read  the  Church  of  England  service.  It  was 
an  impressive  ce^emon3^  and  the  hearts  of  all  were 
deeply  moved  by  it.  Filemoni,  the  Samoan  pastor, 
followed  with  an  eloquent  speech  in  the  native  lan- 
guage. 

The  mats  were  then  removed  from  the  small  space 
that  had  been  cut  into  the  base  of  the  tomb,  and  the 
little  case  was  fitted  in  and  cemented  over.  George 
Stowers,  the  original  builder  of  the  tomb,  was  there, 
and  his  hand  sealed  the  ashes  in  their  last  resting- 
place. 

The  ceremony  now  being  over,  the  party  went 
down  the  hill  in  little  groups,  resting  by  the  way  on 
fallen  logs.  Crossing  the  river  at  the  bottom,  they 
came  into  the  Loto  Alofa  Road  (Road  of  the  Loving 
Hearts),  where  Amatua  had  made  all  the  preparations 
for  the  funeral  feast,  which  was  to  be  given  according 
to  Samoan  custom.  A  long  table-cloth,  consisting  of 
bright-green  breadfruit  and  banana  leaves  and  ferns, 
stretched  along  the  ground  for  sixty  feet  or  more. 


334     LIFE   OF  MRS.   R.   L.   STEVENSON 

The  feast  was  preceded  by  the  ceremonious  drinking 
of  kava  and  speeches  in  Samoan.  "I  had  expected 
the  usual  somewhat  flowery  eulogies,"  wrote  Mrs. 
Field,  "but  their  speeches  were  sincere  and  some  of 
them  very  beautiful.  They  were  translated  by  an 
interpreter,  but  fortunately  my  memory  of  the  lan- 
guage helped  me  to  follow  the  meaning,  even  though 
some  of  the  'high  chief  expressions  were  beyond  me. 
'Many  foreigners  had  visited  Samoa,'  they  said,  'but 
of  all  who  had  professed  affection  and  admiration  for 
the  land  only  one  loved  it  so  well  that  he  chose  it  for 
his  last  resting-place.  Tusitala  had  been  the  true 
friend,  the  dearly  loved,  the  deeply  mourned,  and  now 
when  the  wife  of  his  heart  had  joined  him  after  many 
lonely  years  the  occasion  was  one  too  tender  and  too 
beautiful  for  sorrow.'  They  assured  me  that  we 
might  leave  Samoa  with  peaceful  hearts,  knowing 
that  those  we  loved  were  in  the  land — not  of  strangers, 
but  of  devoted  friends,  who  would  cherish  the  tomb 
on  Vaea  as  they  cherished  in  their  hearts  the  memory 
of  Tusitala  and  Aolele." 

Amatua  then  announced  that  the  feast  was  ready, 
and  tJbe  Governor  and  his  wife  were  seated  at  the 
head  at  one  end  of  the  long  table,  with  Tamasese  and 
Malietoa  Tanu  on  either  side.  The  board,  figura- 
tively speaking,  groaned  under  a  great  spread  of 
native  delicacies.  It  was  full  noon  by  this  time,  and 
very  hot,  but  Amatua  had  thoughtfully  placed  little 
trees  all  along  the  side  to  keep  off  the  sunshine.  "At 
the  end  of  the  feast,"  says  Mrs.  Field,  "I  made  a 
little  speech  of  thanks,  and  it  came  straight  from  my 
heart,  for  I  was  deeply  touched  by  the  kindness  of 


LAST  DAYS  AT  SANTA  BARBARA     335 

them  all  and  their  loyalty  to  the  memory  of  my  dear 
mother  and  Tusitala.  We  tried  to  thank  Colonel 
Logan  and  his  wife,  but  words  can  never  do  that." 

"Nothing  more  picturesque  can  be  imagined  than 
the  narrow  plateau  that  forms  the  summit  of  Mount 
Vaea,  a  place  no  wider  than  a  room  and  as  flat  as  a 
table.  On  either  side  the  land  descends  precipitately ; 
in  front  lie  the  vast  ocean  and  the  surf-swept  reefs; 
in  the  distance  to  the  right  and  left  green  mountains 
rise,  densely  covered  with  the  primeval  forest."* 

Stevenson's  tomb,  with  the  tablet  and  lettering, 
was  designed  by  Gelett  Burgess,  and  was  built  by 
native  workmen  under  the  direction  of  a  half-caste 
named  George  Stowers.  The  material  was  cement, 
run  into  boxes  and  formed  into  large  blocks,  which 
were  then  carried  to  the  summit  on  the  strong  shoul- 
ders of  Samoans,  though  each  block  was  so  heavy 
that  two  white  men  could  scarcely  lift  it  from  the 
ground.  Arrived  at  the  summit  the  blocks  were  then 
welded  into  a  plain  and  dignified  design,  with  two 
large  bronze  tablets  let  in  on  either  side.  One  bears 
the  inscription  in  Samoan,  "The  resting-place  of 
Tusitala,"  followed  by  the  quotation  in  the  same 
language  of  "Thy  country  shall  be  my  country  and 
thy  God  my  God."  The  other  side  bears  the  name 
and  dates  and  the  requiem: 

"Under  the  wide  and  starry  sky. 
Dig  the  grave  and  let  me  lie. 
Glad  did  I  live  and  gladly  die. 
And  I  laid  me  down  with  a  will. 

•  Lloyd  Osbourne,  in  A  Letter  to  His   Friends,  written  directly  after 

the  death  of  Mr.  Stevenson. 


336     LIFE  OF  MRS.   R.   L.   STEVENSON 

This  be  the  verse  you  grave  for  me: 
Here  he  lies  where  he  longed  to  be; 
Home  is  the  sailor,  home  from  sea, 
And  the  hunter  home  from  the  hill." 

When  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Field  arrived  in  Samoa  they 
brought  with  them  a  tablet  which  they  carried  to  the 
summit  of  Mount  Vaea  and  had  cemented  in  one  end 
of  the  base  of  the  tomb.  It  is  of  heavy  bronze,  and 
bears  the  name  Aolele,  together  with  these  lines: 

"Teacher,  tender  comrade,  wife, 
A  fellow-farer  time  through  life, 
Heart  whole  and  soul  free. 
The  August  Father  gave  to  me." 

On  the  tablet  for  Mr.  Stevenson  the  thistle  for 
Scotland  had  been  carved  at  one  corner  and  the 
hibiscus  for  Samoa  at  the  other.  On  his  wife's  the 
hibiscus  was  placed  at  one  corner,  and  after  long  hesi- 
tation about  the  other,  a  sudden  inspiration  suggested 
to  Mrs.  Field  the  tiger-lily — bright  flower  whose 
name  had  been  given  to  little  Fanny  Van  de  Grift 
by  her  mother  in  the  old  days  in  Indiana. 

Before  leaving  the  island  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Field  en- 
dowed a  scholarship  for  three  little  girls  at  the  con- 
vent school — one  to  be  chosen  by  the  sisters,  one  by 
Tamasese,  and  one  by  Mitaele,  the  last  of  the  Vailima 
household.  All  they  asked  was  that  these  little  girls 
should  go  to  the  tomb  on  the  10th  of  every  March, 
the  birthday  of  Aolele,  and  decorate  the  grave.  That 
they  kept  their  promise  is  shown  by  the  following 
quotation  from  the  Samoan  Times: 

"On  Friday  morning,  the  10th  instant,  the  three 


LAST  DAYS  AT  SANTA  BARBARA     337 

pupils  of  the  convent  school,  Savalalo,  whose  scholar- 
ships were  endowed  by  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Salisbury  Field 
in  memory  of  the  late  Mrs.  Robert  Louis  Stevenson, 
the  mother  of  Mrs.  Field,  paid  a  visit  to  the  Stevenson 
tomb  on  Mount  Vaea  in  honor  of  the  anniversary  of 
the  birthday  of  the  deceased  lady.  The  little  party 
left  at  7  a.  m.  and  arrived  at  the  summit  of  the  hill 
at  about  nine  o'clock.  Upon  arrival  at  the  top  of 
the  hill  the  children  lost  no  time  in  decorating  the 
grave  with  wreaths  of  flowers  and  greenery,  a  plentiful 
supply  of  which  was  taken  by  them.  After  the  deco- 
rating the  party  sat  down  to  a  small  taumafataga 
(high  chief  lunch),  after  which  they  returned  to 
town." 

Tiger-lily  and  Scotch  thistle — they  sleep  together 
under  tropic  stars,  far  from  the  fields  of  waving  corn 
and  the  purple  moorlands,  but  each  year  hands,  alien 
to  them  both,  tenderly  lay  flowers  on  their  tomb. 


r  K 


> 


ri!^ 


^t^y 


(/ 


V 


\ 


/ 

6 

tMEJW- 

o 

\ 

s 

£ 

1 

/ 

o 

^ 

^ 

\ 

/ 

/ 

«i   y^ 


-r-JIA,  SASBAk* 


fiTSrl 


3  12050103 


•91!   IHl    <•' 


7269 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


A  A         001  417  115  1 


\ 


/ 


